Near Death Experience
by jakela
Summary: In the aftermath of traumatic events, Reese and Carter's relationship spirals out of control. Contains spoilers for the Season two episodes 2Pi-R, Prisoner's Dilemma, Dead Reckoning and Booked Solid.
1. Chapter 1

Near Death Experience

In the aftermath of traumatic events, Reese and Carter's relationship spirals out of control. Contains spoilers for the Season two episodes 2Pi-R, Prisonner's Dilemma, Dead Reckoning and Booked Solid.

The usual disclaimers: nothing you recognize belongs to me.

"Whoever he is, he's a lucky man."

Joss couldn't help but smile at the handsome young barista when she paid her bill. He had been flirting with her outrageously since she stopped in the coffee shop, much to the consternation of a trio of young women who had been trying to get his attention for the last fifteen minutes. His skin was as dark and smooth as the sweetest plums, his braids hung almost to his waist and his long fingers were dazzling to watch as he prepared complicated concoctions for his customers.

She leaned forward. "I think you might have better luck over there," tilting her head slightly at the trio.

His eyes lingered on her mouth. "Maybe, but you can't blame me for wanting to appreciate the finer things in life." He handed her his business card, his forefinger grazing her skin. "Call me. My personal cell's on the back."

It had been like this for a while now. They say that you never feel more alive than after you've almost died and Joss was starting to believe it was true as she stepped out on the street. She had been in that coffee shop many times before, but it was only recently that the barista had even noticed her, much less tried to flirt with her. He wasn't the only one – men everywhere were looking at her differently, as if she had some incredible secret that she would only share with the man bold enough to approach her.

The first few days after – Joss didn't even know what to call it – _everything_ that had happened were extremely difficult. She was both wrung out and wired, wanting to collapse in a heap one moment, then ready to run five miles the next. Joss took sleeping pills, but she'd wake up several times a night, her pillow soaked with tears, the sound of heels leisurely walking towards her, dealing death, haunting her.

She had nightmares - John carried out of the prison yard, eyes open, unseeing or blown to bits, pieces of skin and bone floating like confetti in the sky. Donnelly would follow her, his hand ghostly white, clutching her arm, asking her, 'What was your price, Carter?', over and over again, until she would scream in frustration, shoving him away, then watch in horror as he crumpled to the ground, only to appear again. The worst ones would be when Taylor, shaking his head in disgust, his eyes hard and sharp like flint, would turn his back on her as she was led away in shackles down a long endless hall.

Her son was watching her like a hawk and for once Fusco was double checking her paperwork. After a few days of this, Joss conceded that she needed to take some time off. Fortunately she had a few personal days to use up before the end of the year, and while her co-workers were surprised – she had to be pushed to even take her vacation days – several commended her for finally smartening up.

Finch sent her to a series of superb doctors who gave her special medications to help her sleep and tended her torn and battered skin with treatments only available to the extremely wealthy. The only indications of the car crash now were two thin three inch long scars at her waist near her tattoo – when told she could have plastic surgery to remove them, she demurred.

Karma for the other scars she had caused, she thought.

Joss pulled the collar of her new coat up - she had incinerated all the clothes that she wore that night – even if they weren't ripped and torn, they were spattered with the blood of three people and smelled of fire and gasoline. It had arrived anonymously several days later – dark red, of the finest cashmere, made to her measurements. It hung in her closet for several days and then finally, hesitantly, she put it on – she'd worn it every day since.

As she waited to cross the street Joss saw her reflection in a store window. She looked good, was starting to feel good, perhaps that's all those men saw. The nightmares were gone and while Joss sometimes felt as though she was being followed, it was understandable, with being caught by Donnelly on the bridge – she'd be looking over her shoulder for a long while to come.

Joss knew she was taking a chance tonight – perhaps that was why she had lingered so long in the coffee shop. They hadn't really spoken for a while – it was time to clear the air. Taking a deep breath, Joss knocked on the door of his apartment.

There was a flicker of surprise in his eyes as he opened the door, but he quickly hid it. "I didn't realize you knew where I lived," he said, as he stepped back to let her in.

"I _am_ a detective." Her eyes took in the spacious loft, smiling as she crossed the room. "Is there some rule that single men of a certain age have to have a black leather couch?" She ran her hand along the soft buttery skins.

He followed her, smirking. "We get a group discount." His eyes flickered over her, as if he wanted to say something, but he didn't know where to start. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"No, but you can answer a question." She unbuttoned her beautiful coat, revealing her naked body. "Do you want me?"

"Carter –"

"Do you?" The coat fell to the floor – all she had on were a pair of black heels. "Do you?"

Joss stretched out on the couch, parting her legs. Her arms were above her head, back arched, thrusting her breasts forward.

She watched as his eyes roved over her body, as his erection surged in his dark pants, as he swallowed convulsively. Joss wanted to laugh - she knew she would win this battle.

"Do you?" Lowering one arm, she cupped a breast, running her finger over the nipple, feeling it harden as she caressed it.

"God…" His eyes flashed and she knew she had won. He tore his clothes off, his cock jerking forward as his boxers dropped to the floor, the head already glistening with pre-cum.

As he knelt beside her, he stretched out his hand to turn a table lamp off, but she gripped his arm. "I want to see it all."

Cal Beecher fisted her hair, drew her head back and kissed her.

Their bodies twined together, not knowing or not caring that they were in full view of the loft's large windows.

That they were being watched.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Near Death Experience – Chapter 2

"_He's a good man."_

No he wasn't, John Reese thought, not even close – if he was, he wouldn't be standing in the darkness, more than a little drunk, watching Joss fuck another man.

Reese had been following Joss for some time now, her red coat a shimmering beacon among the ubiquitous black worn by winter weary New Yorkers, beckoning him forward.

Even though he needed to be sharp for his work with Finch, even though a renewed romance with single malt Scotch was dulling his reflexes and even though he knew that one day she'd probably catch him, he kept following her.

Reese had erased all evidence of Joss from his life - a note in her neat handwriting in the storage compartment of the Ducati, a hair elastic that he had borrowed to roll up a set of blueprints on his desk, the sound of her laughter when she had been startled by a shower of falling leaves on a voice message - he was surprised by how many things there were, cluttering his apartment, littering Finch's fleet of vehicles, filling up electronic queues, dragging down jacket pockets, spilling out of bags and rattling around weapons caches. So many things, but Reese got rid of them all.

Shredded, thrown out, deleted. Gone.

He'd think that he was done, but something always seemed to pop up – a tube of lipstick used to write a warning message on a mirror rolling out of a backpack, dark pink buttons when she snagged her shirt cuff jumping out of a van glinting on floor mats, a coffee cup edged with a slash of red wedged under a car seat, a business card used to mark his place in a book he had read on military history.

Reese knew that if he just took the time and systematically went through everything he would find the rest.

But he kept following her instead.

Besides, he could do that anytime. He had already done the hardest thing, severing all contact with her.

Reese had not spoken to, or been face to face with Joss for weeks.

When Finch mentioned her name or spoke to her on the phone, Reese didn't comment, didn't respond, didn't react, didn't even blink.

It was better this way.

She was developing a closer relationship with Finch – it was about time that those two were finally learning to trust and depend on each other.

She was a team member – Reese had his role, Joss had hers; they didn't need to talk to be effective.

She was an asset – it didn't matter who spoke to her as long as the information got passed on.

She was one resource among many – useful, but nothing more than that.

But yet he kept following her.

Reese didn't want to know about her, speak about her or hear about her.

He just happened to overhear a call between his partner and the detective - the nightmares had stopped, her body had healed, she was feeling better.

Things are back to normal, he thought.

He kept following her.

Two days later Joss had coffee with LaBlanca from SID. When her colleague sent her an e-vite from another friend for an evening out, Joss said she'd think about it. On the way home from work, she stood in front of a boutique window for a moment, left, then walked back and bought a new dress.

So the next evening when Joss left her apartment, he thought she'd decided to meet them. Her hair was down and her legs – long and graceful, legs that he had never seen before – gleamed in the darkness as she headed downtown.

At one point, when she stood in a crowd waiting to cross the street, he was close enough to smell her. Reese closed his eyes, inhaling a faint blend of jasmine and baby oil, warm and light in the cold winter air.

The jostling of the crowd moved him forward, and when Reese opened his eyes, Joss was gone. He thought he had lost her, but then he remembered the coffee shop near her precinct. A few minutes later he saw her placing an order at the counter.

He stood in the shadows, sipping Scotch from a flask as he watched her drink her coffee. Joss smiled at an elderly gentleman who told her she was beautiful and then gently let down the kid behind the counter who was trying to flirt with her.

As she continued walking along, he realized she was near his neighborhood. For a moment he thought stupidly, foolishly, selfishly, that despite everything, Joss was heading towards his loft, but she turned right several streets before his and Reese realized she was heading towards Cal Beecher's place. The narcotics detective had taken advantage of the economic downturn and snagged a loft in one of the buildings a few blocks from his.

Reese hadn't bugged Beecher's place – there was no need to, she had never been there.

Joss stood in a narrow courtyard, checking to see if the lights to Beecher's place were on, then made her way to the lobby. He noted that Joss didn't use the intercom to have Beecher buzz her in, instead waiting for someone to leave the building to gain entrance.

While she waited, Reese easily bypassed the security system on the empty building next door and made his way to a bank of windows on the third floor. The building was close enough that he could look easily into Beecher's place, and as he stood in the darkness he could see the man apparently enjoying a quiet evening at home, drinking beer and listening to music.

Soon he saw a couple make their way across the street from Beecher's building and he knew that Joss had gotten in.

A few minutes later, Beecher let Joss into his loft. He seemed unsure as to why she was there, following her as Joss made her way over to the large sectional, her fingers running along the smooth black leather.

She turned her back to the window and Reese couldn't believe what he was seeing, as her coat dropped to the floor, as she stood there naked except for her black heels, as she stretched out on the couch and offered her incredible body to Beecher.

For a moment Beecher seemed as stupefied as Reese was – while their dates seemed to go okay, things had never gotten 'heavy' between them – and then he took off his clothes, knelt beside her and kissed her.

Beecher's skin was darker than hers, the couch was darker still, both highlighting Joss' beautiful, rich tones even more as he lay beside her. He ran his hands over her body, pausing and then slowly drawing his finger along the left side of her waist.

Reese leaned closer, took a scope out of his pocket for a better look.

There were two thin scars on her waist.

New scars.

Reese knew that he had caused them.

When the truck rammed Donnelly's vehicle, the grab handle that Reese had been handcuffed to came loose and his body hurtled into Joss' as the SUV tumbled over. He heard her scream as she was sandwiched between him and the crumpling metal on her left side and then mercifully she was silent as Kara approached them.

Dizzily Reese wondered, she said she was healed; why hadn't she had them removed, but then those thoughts vanished as Joss slid Beecher's hand away and she began to move.

Joss did everything well, including this.

Strong, sinuous and graceful – she touched Beecher every way a man wanted and needed to be touched.

Reese's hands moved along the window. An empty triumph raced through him as Joss showed Beecher how to touch her, the way that Reese already instinctively knew how, his fingers drawing meaningless patterns on the glass, as though it was her skin.

Tears ran down her cheeks when Beecher entered her, and she turned her face towards the window and closed her eyes.

Later, Beecher led Joss over to a sleeping alcove, their bodies in silhouette, shielded by screens. She laid down with him until he fell asleep and then she sat up, staring at the screens.

She sat there for the longest time while Beecher slept, then walked back over to the couch and put her coat and shoes on. As she walked towards the front door of his loft, Beecher awoke, calling her back. He wanted to take her home, but she shook her head, telling him to go back to bed. They went back and forth until she finally agreed to let him call a cab. She insisted that he not walk her out, kissing him softly as she left his place.

Reese watched her send the cab away and walk down the street, her red coat a shimmering beacon in the darkness. He followed her as she walked for hours, then finally in the morning light, she began to head home, moving uptown against the crowds.

Noting the time, he called Finch. "Just checking in, Finch. Everything ok?"

"I've been trying to reach you, Mr. Reese…Bear has been waiting patiently. You were going to spend some time with him this morning. I took him for a short walk, but…"

"I'll be there soon, Finch."

And still he followed her.

A/N: Next, coffee, beer and cereal and in Chapter 4, we'll start to learn why Reese and Carter's relationship has changed so drastically.


	3. Chapter 3

Near Death Experience – Chapter 3

A/N: Coffee, beer and cereal

Joss thought she should have had her son pick some lottery numbers. When he signed up for a series of ski trips sponsored by his school, she reminded Taylor that most of last year's trips were cancelled due to lack of snow.

"Last year I knew not to sign up, this year I am," Taylor grinned, as he directed her to the proper section on his school's website.

"Just remember, every time they cancel, you lose the deposit for that trip." Joss gave him her patented glare, then keyed in her password and gave permission via her electronic signature. Taylor was doing well in school and he was using the money that he earned last summer to pay for the trips. While her son was an excellent snowboarder, she suspected his real goal was getting to know an attractive new classmate who had signed up for the series as well.

He was right. It seemed to snow at least once a week this winter, and this was the third weekend in a row that Taylor and his classmates were headed for the slopes.

She was glad that he wasn't watching her so closely anymore.

That evening Joss sighed as she looked around her apartment. You didn't work the hours she did without a ton of stuff to do at home, but while their place wasn't pristine, it didn't look like a bomb went off.

Ok, bad jokes, Joss thought. I'm definitely better.

She decided to take a short walk, then come back home, put in a favorite flick and tackle some laundry.

After being indoors all day, the cold air felt good on Joss' face as she walked down the street. She just ambled along for a while, no real destination in mind. A couple of times Joss felt something, a wisp, and she turned around, but she knew it was nothing, and after a while she ignored the feeling. It was a vestige from what had happened – in a week or two, it would be gone.

Before Joss knew it, she was downtown. If she planned on getting anything done tonight, she thought, she needed caffeine.

The young barista smiled when Joss entered the coffee shop. "The answer to my prayers." He came around the counter, and Joss was struck by how tall he was, over six feet, with a lean, yet muscular build. "I've got the weekend off for the first time in months and I was hoping I could spend it with you."

Joss had not spoken to him since he gave her his business card. She tilted her head, raising an eyebrow. "What makes you think you're going to spend it with me?"

His eyes lingered on her mouth again. "You're here."

Joss shook her head, trying not to smile. "For a cup of coffee."

As she headed towards the counter, his words came out in a rush. "Howboutadrink - instead?"

Their eyes met. Joss knew that he had practiced his opening lines to her, imagined her responses, never thinking that he'd actually say them to her, that he'd ask her out for a drink. "Sure you're old enough? Remember I'm a cop."

His shoulders relaxed and his smile was soft. "Yes, officer."

They left the shop together. He told her about himself as they walked along – a recent college grad, he was in his corporation's management training program. Part of the training involved learning about all aspects of the organization, including working in the stores.

Like a lot of men in his twenties, his voice had a heavy urgency, as if he had to work to push the words out, unused to talking so much after spending his teenage years almost mute. "Done it all, unloaded trucks, run focus groups, waited tables, even handed out flyers. In between all the on-the-job stuff, there's classes and training. It's pretty intense – sixty percent drop out, but if you can hack it, it's worth it." He smiled at her. "Hopefully the lessons I've learned about people will stick."

"What was the most important?"

"Recognizing what someone needs, and _you_ need a drink," he said as they walked into a nearby bar.

They found a booth in the back, drank beer, talked and laughed. He was so uncomplicated, Joss thought, as the barista excused himself to use the facilities. Had she ever been that way?

No, the military, marriage, family, school, the job, _other_ things filled her life. Out of habit she checked her phone, then shook her head and put it back in her pocket – _relax_ for a few hours, she told herself.

When the barista returned from using the facilities, he stood in front of the booth for a moment, then slowly slid in next to her. Joss watched as he ran those elegant fingers over her hand, sending tiny shivers through her body. He leaned forward and Joss told herself, it's just a kiss, and she lifted her head and closed her eyes, meeting his lips.

His kiss was surprisingly gentle and Joss found herself leaning into him, tasting the beer on his lips, a hint of coffee in his smell, the smoothness of his chest as her fingers touched the skin above his open polo shirt.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, as he deepened the kiss, his tongue swirling with hers, his hands running through her hair. He paused, looking down at her and she knew he had practiced this next line in the men's room. "If I told you that I wanted to make love to you tonight, what…would you say?"

The noise in the bar seemed very far away. Joss looked down at the table, then met his eyes. "I'd say that another one of your prayers was being answered," she whispered back.

Recognizing the astronomical rents in the city, his company maintained a complex for management trainees and other staffers, not far from the bar. "It's nothing special, but the rent is low, and at least for me, close to work."

When they walked into the tiny apartment, his roommate practically dropped the mixing bowl he was using to consume a gargantuan mound of cereal. ""Well, _hellloo_ –"

"She's not interested," the barista said as he led her to his bedroom.

His room was small, surprisingly neat, the only furniture a double bed and a dresser. "My dad was in the military - daily inspections when he was home. I learned real fast that if stuff wasn't where it belonged, it wound up in the trash. Good training for living in a shoebox like this." He turned to her, eyes uncertain and Joss was struck by how young he really was. "It's probably not what you're used to –"

Joss pushed him against the wall, kissing him. The first time was a blur, tangling clothes and limbs, their bodies bumping against the wall as he lifted her in his arms, thrusting deep inside her.

They fell on the bed and Joss ran her hands over his dark frame, amazed at how perfect he was - there wasn't a blemish or a bruise or a scar on his body.

It was as though he had been made today, never lived before, never been touched.

She took one of his biceps between her teeth, savoring that perfect dark plum skin, licking it slowly as his breathing slowed.

He ran his hand over the scars on her waist. "This must have hurt," he said. "I hope the other guy got it worse."

She thought of parking garages and hallways, bullets and bomb vests. "Much worse," Joss whispered, as she covered his mouth with her own.

He was ready again soon and she pulled his body forward so that his feet rested on the floor. Kneeling between his legs, Joss caressed his calves and thighs, teasing him, watching his cock bob and jerk, the beautiful dark skin becoming suffused with a rosy glow, her touch making him harder and harder still.

She drew her fingernails across his skin, at first lightly, then harder and harder, smiling as he grunted, as his hips began to thrust forward. She lapped the head of his cock with her tongue, darting it in the slit and then rimming it, first one direction and then the other.

His head was back, eyes closed. Joss leaned forward, kissed him. "Watch," she whispered as the mouth he'd stared at slowly enveloped his cock, inch by inch. When she knew he couldn't take any more, she straddled him and took him into her body.

He didn't notice her wiping the tears away.

She spent the rest of the night and much of the next day with him. His roommate had drunk all the milk, so they ate handfuls of cereal straight from the box.

"Let me buy you dinner," the barista said as she dressed to leave in the late afternoon gloom. He had neatly folded her clothes and hung up her coat while she had slept.

"Another time," she lied.

"That night – when I gave you my card – was there - a guy?," he asked, as Joss put on her coat.

"Yes." Blue and silver, black and white flashed across her mind.

"Then why…" he shrugged, his head just barely tilting towards the bed.

She touched his face. "I almost died a few weeks ago."

"I don't get it."

"You will, someday." She walked out into the afternoon darkness.

A/N: Next, we'll start to learn why Reese and Carter's relationship has changed so drastically, and Chapter 5 is called Eyes Wide Shut.


	4. Chapter 4

Near Death Experience – Chapter 4

A/N: The next several chapters I will be posting in pairs – one chapter from the past and then the following chapter in the present. The chapter from the past will provide some of the background information on what led to the drastic change in Reese and Carter's relationship; the chapter in the present will detail the effects of the change and how they are dealing, or as we already know, not dealing with it.

This chapter takes place at Rikers Island and is from Reese's POV. I have included some of the dialog from the interrogation scenes between Reese and Carter. Thanks to the wonderful folks at the Person of Interest Discussion Forum, and specifically blacktop, who very generously compiled and posted a transcript of those intense encounters.

Guilty men sleep.

It was one of those myths good people cling to, that a guilty man will sleep peacefully in his cell, while an innocent man will stay wide awake in his, night after night, pacing back and forth, trying to remember the one thing that will set him free.

During those days at Rikers, John Reese didn't sleep, but it wasn't because he was innocent – far from it.

He knew the guards were watching, and in his guise as a Wall Street type who was in the wrong place at the wrong time, not being able to sleep and pacing in his cell seemed normal. They expected him to be terrified by the close conditions, the noise, the danger.

Of course he wasn't; he'd been imprisoned before. Reese couldn't sleep and he paced because it was too isolated, too quiet, too safe.

Reese was used to harsh conditions, beatings and torture when he was in captivity. In fact, he welcomed them.

You stayed sharp because you had to focus on so many things – what insects to eat, managing the pain, not divulging any critical information. You found water under rocks, closed wounds with thorns, devised ways to send messages. You formed alliances, eliminated threats, looked for weaknesses.

And you engaged your captors.

You let them know that when they starved you, when they beat you, when they tortured you for hours just to get your name, that they had already lost by sinking to that level, that they were weak and stupid, that it was only a matter of time before their superiors recognized their ineptitude and reassigned them – permanently - with a bullet.

You changed the balance of power as they forgot about the information they were supposed to get from you – they focused on trying to prove you wrong, so that now they divulged the information _you_ needed – and then you killed them and escaped.

Here of course, there was none of that.

Three hots and a cot, a private cell, even help from an adversary. A few members of the Aryan Brotherhood and a suspected government operative were on his radar, but not a priority for now.

Here there was just time.

Time to think about how stupid he had been, how he had jeopardized everything on a rash decision to help that young couple.

Time to think about how he jeopardized the mission - how many people might die because someone won't be able to be there in time.

Time to think about how he jeopardized the team - whether he'd left any evidence behind in that bank basement that could lead the authorities to them.

Time to think about how he jeopardized his friends - with their focus divided as they worked the numbers and tried to help him escape, they might make a mistake that could cost them their freedom, or even their lives.

Time, time, time.

So he stayed awake, and he paced, and he fretted, and he worried and he cursed and he berated himself.

If only his captors knew what a perfect torture this was.

Reese had eviscerated himself mentally and emotionally so thoroughly, his mind was so cluttered with wouldashouldacoulda and how he should have duckeditshuckedittuckedit, that if they decided to question him, he wasn't sure any more that he might not give up that tiniest bit of information, that one small clue that could bring everything, and more importantly everyone, tumbling down.

When told that that he wasn't a match, his face was blank, but inwardly Reese breathed a huge sigh of relief. Finch said that he had a plan and it must have worked.

Just keep it together and in a few hours he'd be processed and out of here.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXX

_What did it say about you when the most intimate conversation you've ever had with someone was when you were behind bars? _

_What if that person was tasked with breaking you?_

_What if that person was your friend?_

_What if you wanted her safe, but you also wanted her here?_

_What if one syllable, one gesture, one look could expose it all?_

_And what if you started dreaming - even though you were wide awake?_

XXX

Reese was surprised that Donnelly hadn't caught on.

The little nod he gave Joss in the bank basement, telling her it was alright to give him up.

The way he turned his head, searching for her when they swabbed him for a DNA sample.

The searing gaze he gave her when Donnelly returned them to their cells.

Reese knew that she was a good interrogator. Even in their brief conversation in the police station over a year ago, Joss had sparked something in him, awakened that little bit of humanity still clinging to life inside. She saw something there – broken and battered and damn near dead – but she saw it.

He had already decided not to say a word to her, but when she introduced herself as Carter, not Detective Carter – asserting her authority, or Jocelyn – trying to be a friend, but just Carter, he spoke.

Of course Reese didn't give her his name and he answered her question with a question, but he spoke to her, and he supposed that was where it began, the push and pull, cat and mouse, call and response between the two of them, even though neither one was aware of it at the time.

Reese wasn't sure that if he hadn't spoken to her first, whether he would have taken Finch up on his offer, or if he did, would he have been little more than another one of Finch's tools, deadly and efficient, but with no feeling or compassion.

Even after they completed the case and Harold told him that he would give him money to leave if he wanted, he decided to stay – because now he had a purpose and a chance to do some good after all the terrible things he'd done.

And he also wanted to continue the conversation with her.

So they talked. On the phone and in person, on rooftops and in cars, sipping coffee and slugging back booze. They talked as enemies, reluctant allies, teammates and increasingly, they talked as friends.

It seemed fitting that she interrogate him today, that if she was at the beginning, she should be at what could be the end as well.

XXX

"So…let's start with your name." Joss said.

Reese paused for a moment.

It wasn't that he was trying to remember that he was John Warren - he had reviewed and memorized for hours the facts about the persona he and Finch had created in preparation for something like this – Reese paused because he made that final decision that he was going through with it, that he wouldn't give up, that he would let Joss interrogate him and try to get out of here.

He wanted to go on with the mission. He wanted to deepen his partnership and increasingly, his friendship, with Harold. He wanted to harass Fusco.

He wanted to continue the conversation with her.

"John Warren – just like it says on my license."

XXX

At first the room was very crowded. In addition to the former army interrogator and the suspect, there was the cop, the vigilante, the man in a suit, the lawyer, the spy, the single mom, the bum, the wife, the assassin and the two soldiers, all in that tiny room, clustered around that table as the FBI agent, the warden, the guards, the other prisoners and extraneous staffers watched, listened and speculated, trying to figure out what was really going on here.

Slowly, they all faded away, and it didn't matter that anyone was watching or listening in, Reese thought. It didn't matter who they had been, who they were now, who they were pretending to be in this room.

It was just two people, talking.

XXX

"What's your middle name?" Joss asked.

"Benjamin."

He kept seeing flashes of red on Joss. She had all black on, but little things would turn red – her earrings, the buttons on her blouse, the edge of her jacket lining inside her sleeve when she raised her arm. It was though his mind was searching for something, or better yet, someplace where that red should be, like when you lose your keys – you mentally retrace your steps, thinking about all the places they could be, but nothing seems right. When she left the room, he kept thinking about where that red should be, treating it like a game, using it to stay sharp, stay focused, while he waited for her to return.

XXX

Reese ran his finger slowly along his temple.

"You have any enemies?" Joss asked.

"Well, I'm pretty sure the guy behind that mirror isn't a fan."

_They found the little girl hours outside of the city. She shrank back when she saw Reese – it was men who had kidnapped her and taken her away from her family, men who were going to kill her even after the ransom had been paid – but then shyly held her hand out to Joss. _

_While Reese drove, Joss sat with the little girl in the back of the car, talking to her, gradually getting her trust. They stopped for food on the way and Joss displayed that perfect combination of firmness and caring when she told the little girl that she would have milk instead of soda and an apple instead of fries. _

_Finally the little girl slid into Joss' lap and put her arms around her neck, half asleep as she played with Joss' hair. Joss sang softly to her, her eyes occasionally meeting Reese's in the rear view mirror. _

_They had gotten there in time._

_When they arrived at her parents' house, Joss' hair was askew and Reese pulled the red hair elastic free and then ran his finger along her temple, gently pushing an errant strand of hair behind her ear. _

Of course it didn't happen that way.

Reese knew that for a brief moment his mind, dying for sleep, had drifted into some sort of dream, even though his eyes were wide open. It was only for a moment and he quickly recalled what really happened, while Donnelly issued some instruction to Joss via her earpiece.

_Joss had noticed her hair in the car window as they exited the vehicle and she asked Reese to pull out the hair elastic for her. She shook her head, letting her hair fall into place and then she carried the little girl back to her overjoyed parents while Reese, as always, stayed in the background. _

There, he found it, that's where the flash of red came from. It would go away now as that part of his brain focused on something else.

"Why did you leave the military?" Joss asked.

XXX

"Guess I was drifting a bit, job to job, place to place. Damn near broke for a while. Then a good man found me and gave me a purpose."

"Who was that?" Joss asked.

"My current employer, Howard French."

Reese knew that Donnelly was speaking to Joss via the earpiece, that he would be running a background check on his imaginary employer, Howard French, but then Joss' head moved to her right, just a little bit, and he knew that someone else was speaking to her as well – Harold, assuring her that everything would check out.

"How did you and Mr. French meet?"

"He found my resume online, called me in for a meeting. Then he told me who he was, what he did, asked if I wanted to help. You can call Howard and ask him about me. I'm sure he's wondering where I am."

Reese wanted to smile at the look on her face – he knew she was thinking that she'd love to talk to 'Howard French' right now.

"Excuse me." She left the room.

He closed his eyes as he waited for her to return. The flashes of red hadn't gone away, in fact they had multiplied. Reese thought back to that day when he pulled the red hair elastic from Joss' hair:

_He didn't know he had still had the accessory until he undressed that night. He still might have it, in fact._

If they got out of this, he'd look for it and give it back to her.

XXX

Joss' hand circled slowly in the air, signaling 'stall'.

"I'm sorry. How many more questions am I going to have to answer?" Reese asked.

"I'll tell you what. I'll answer one of yours, then you answer mine. Have I ever killed anyone? Yeah. First time was the worst."

She had asked him hours ago if he had ever killed anyone and he had answered truthfully – only the location was false. When he had woven it into John Warren's past, he had relayed the facts calmly to Harold, but here the feelings of that night had overtaken him and he'd had to look away to collect himself.

Reese listened to her tell her story and he knew she felt the same way, had been thinking the same things: how quickly it happened, yet how slowly, that desperate realization that they both wanted to live, but that only one would, and at the end how they were all drenched in sweat, that the living and the dead had their mouths wide open, and even though only one could speak, they both silently screamed a sorrowful medley of anguish, relief, terror and regret.

He wanted to ask her if she had done something like he had done afterwards – gotten rip roaring drunk, gone off into the woods with a UN translator who had been eyeing him in the bar all night. After he had fucked her six ways to Sunday, she blurted out that her boyfriend was playing pool in the next room and was probably looking for her. He laughed hysterically, telling her that having his dick out in the words is what had gotten him into trouble in the first place. She thought he was laughing at her and shoved him out of the way, gathering her clothes and the remnants of her dignity as she left.

But, no, he didn't have to ask her. He knew that she had prayed on her knees for hours, written and torn up letters to the family she imagined the man had, asking for forgiveness, answered the chaplain honestly, but never told the truth.

He knew that they had both cried afterwards, he in the woods, she in the latrines.

Her eyes thanked him silently. They kept on talking.

And the room was bathed in a soft red light.

A/N: In the episode Prisoner's Dilemma, there was an extreme close up of Reese's face, when he slowly runs his finger down his temple as he talks to Carter. I call that the beauty shot – an absolutely fantastic example of how gorgeous JC is and how much the camera loves him.

Next: A chapter called Eyes Wide Shut, which takes place at the hotel featured in the episode, Booked Solid.


	5. Chapter 5

Near Death Experience – Chapter 5

A/N: This chapter is called Eyes Wide Shut and it is primarily from Zoe's POV.

He was different, Zoe thought.

John Reese was always intense, but today he was edgy, even a little surly – some of it she was sure, was attributable to wearing a poorly designed polyester blend uniform and lugging people's belongings around, but there was something else.

He was looking at her. Appraisingly, speculatively.

Zoe Morgan had a fairly straight forward approach towards the men she was interested in. Nothing too overt – most of the men she dealt with had their lives scheduled to the minute by their staff, so in matters of the heart, they liked to believe that they were in charge.

A touch of the hand, a phone number, maybe a drink - Zoe let them take the next step, while all the time letting them believe that they were taking the first one.

Her rule was one gesture, one time – if a man didn't respond to her touch, her private number or that invitation for a drink, she didn't offer again. New York had tons of savvy, powerful men – there was no percentage to be gained in setting her sights on someone who wasn't smart enough or bold enough to make the next move.

The fixer had broken that rule, more than once with John Reese.

She supposed that it was somewhat poetic – the man was a corrupting influence. He'd actually had her helping him and his mysterious friend for free with no fee, favor or connections made in exchange for her services, several times since they'd met over a year ago.

She'd make a gesture and John would smirk, raise an eyebrow, or shrug, but he never made the next move. She didn't think there was anyone else; while the man oozed sex, he didn't seem well fucked. Perhaps he had taken a vow of celibacy or maybe she needed a special code word or a secret decoder ring to unlock the chastity belt under those dark suits.

Zoe knew that he was aware of her as a woman, and when she 'ran' into John and that newspaper reporter at the restaurant, there was a funky vibe between the three of them.

Now that would have been interesting.

Even when they were sitting in that suburban hell for hours on end, the only devilish thing their idle hands could find to do was play endless rounds of poker.

The precious few times that John did sleep, it was with the dog.

But this evening, she thought as she walked into the bar, he was giving her that look again. His friend disappeared and John sidled over to her, waving the key card to the Presidential Suite.

For a moment Zoe thought, someone's a little too sure of himself, but that casual arrogance was one of the things that made him so attractive. She dealt with too many men who had a meltdown if they got a cryptic tweet from some nobody in East Doesn't Matter and unfortunately that uncertainty often extended – or didn't, when it came to their manhood – to the bedroom.

John Reese was good at what he did, knew he was good, had no reason to hide it – she had no doubt that he was just as good in bed.

She'd wanted him for a long time. And now he wanted her.

As they walked to the elevator, a staffer from one of her clients today ran up to her, frantic, requesting her assistance.

John shrugged, "I'm not going anywhere."

It was somewhat intoxicating, thinking that he was waiting for her.

What Zoe thought would take ten minutes took forty and when he opened the door to the suite, she could see that something had changed. John looked surprised, even disappointed to see her, as if he was hoping she'd changed her mind. The arrogance was gone and while there was still a strong sexual pulse, it was tinged with something else.

Regret.

In a flash, Zoe knew.

The detective. The little detective.

She should have known – when they were in the suburbs and the detective would call, he'd stand up and walk away, head lowered, voice soft, as though the talk was intimate, as though the two of them were the only people in the world.

And when he spoke to the detective face to face, John ignored her, didn't even introduce her, as if Zoe had ceased to exist. At the time, she had chalked it up to the case and his usual intensity, but she realized now that her own ego didn't want to accept what was right in front of her eyes.

Trying to pull rank by introducing herself as John's wife just proved how inconsequential she really was.

"Problem solved?" he asked as he ushered her in. He had taken his jacket off and his sleeves were rolled up. He hadn't showered and she liked the way he smelled – there was a slight sweaty smokiness from his being a bag jockey all day, topped off with the aroma from the tumbler of Scotch that he held in his hand – it was utterly him, utterly male. She wanted to lick his skin and taste it, imagining the saltiness on her tongue.

"Eventually." She took the glass he offered her, watching as he refilled his. The lights were blazing in the main living area and Zoe circled the room slowly, turning most of them off. "One of the challenges of doing what I do, what makes it fascinating actually, is figuring out what the client really wants. They'll tell me it's one thing, but it's usually something else they truly desire. They'll bluster, lie, make up some grand story, try to use their charm, try to manipulate me into giving them what they really want, without my knowing how badly they want it."

"Why do you think that is?" he asked.

"Sometimes it's because they're cheap, other times they try to pass off a personal need as a business one, but mostly they're afraid I'll have some advantage over them." She savored the liquid on her tongue. "It doesn't matter. In the end I get them what they really want, despite themselves."

"Well, I know you're good at what you do, Zoe."

"I am – and my fees are commensurate with that."

"And what did the client want tonight?"

She took his hand and led him into the bedroom. The light in here was soft and low. She ran her fingers along the side of John's face, caressing one of those incredible cheekbones.

"Tonight, he wants to forget something."

Zoe loved how he didn't rush her, how he let her undress him while he sipped his drink, enjoying the sight of him totally naked, while she was still perfectly attired and coiffed. She walked around him, wanting to see him from all angles – his strong shoulders, lean hips, muscular thighs, the bum that she knew from a brief pat was surprisingly perky. She noted the faint array of hair on his chest, how it narrowed as it traveled down his stomach, directing you to his heavy, thick cock, hanging there, waiting to be called into action.

She ran her hands over his strong frame, marveling at how beautiful he was, despite, or perhaps because of, the scars. There were so many of them.

When she touched the one on his stomach, he pulled her hand away sharply, the grip almost painful and then he relaxed his fingers, drawing her to the bed. She took off her clothes and they lay down together.

Zoe watched as John closed his eyes, his long lashes casting shadows against his skin. He took a deep breath, and then ran his large hands over her body, slowly, from the top of her head all the way down to her toes. She could feel that thick heavy cock stiffen against her thigh. He opened his eyes and then he made love to her, the way she knew he could, intensely, deeply, passionately, bringing her to the pinnacle many times over before he finally allowed his own release, his voice a strangled cry in the darkness.

XXX

Reese closed his eyes, took a deep breath and slowly ran his hands down Zoe's body. Her hair became black velvet like the night sky, her lips the kind that you wanted to take between your teeth to savor their plumpness, her skin – so glorious, a rich beautiful brown, her curves the kind that a man could spend a lifetime getting lost in.

He ran his hand along the scars on her waist.

And when he opened his eyes, he saw the woman he really wanted.

He took Zoe over and over again, her sighs and moans and whispers cutting like thin knives against his heart.

XXX

The Presidential Suite had a butler 24/7 to attend to your every need. Mark Olivier had the AM shift. Good at his field for over forty years, he observed the man and woman – they weren't a couple, but it wasn't quite a one night stand either. He wasn't sure what they were – friends, business associates, probably some of both – a little action between the sheets last night and covert glances adding some spice to today's boring meeting, perhaps.

His eyes flickered towards the liquor cart – they'd put away a good amount of scotch – he made a mental note to bring more from the pantry. The woman looked well fucked, while the man – Oliver saw release, but not satisfaction.

Interesting.

The man was already dressed, while the woman lounged in one of the robes provided by the hotel. She asked him to steam her dress and nodded approvingly when he offered to polish her shoes. She handed him a scarf from her purse to steam as well.

Smart girl. Oliver bet she had different earrings and a pair of panties in her purse and when she left the hotel this morning, nobody would know that she'd never made it home. No walk of shame for her, as his granddaughter would say.

Oliver looked at the man again. There wasn't the telltale lighter ring of skin around the finger where a wedding band would be. He didn't seem married anyway, ring or no ring, but there was definitely somebody else there, someone that he felt he betrayed, a third person in the suite, even though there were really only two people there.

They just wanted coffee. Oliiver took her clothing and left the suite.

XXX

As a fixer, Zoe's clients usually called her when they were in crisis, so while she might spend hours resolving their issue, she needed to look totally pulled together round the clock. A scarf, earrings and panties from her purse and she was ready for the new day. The butler had steamed her clothing perfectly and she adjusted her scarf one last time as she walked back out onto the terrace. John was still sitting at the table where they had shared their morning coffee. Heat lamps took off the morning chill and the day was bright and sunny.

"More coffee?" John asked, as she sat beside him.

"No thanks." Zoe examined her heels – the butler had polished them and they gleamed beautifully. "You know, John, I once told you that I didn't think there was a woman alive who could fix you, but damn," she shook her head, a soft smile on her face, "there is _one_ woman who can certainly fuck you up, fuck you up to the extreme. The little detective - I kind of like it."

To his credit, he didn't deny it. His trademark smirk was thin. "So, is this a bonding moment between you two?"

"She's definitely got my attention. I knew there was something different about her, even with the bangs and the sensible shoes. Guess she decided not to be the good girl anymore…"

Zoe looked at him closely. In the harsh morning light she noticed the circles under his eyes, the slight tremor in his hand as he put his coffee cup down. She wanted to say it was because she'd kept him up all night, but she knew it wasn't.

"John…" she touched his cheek. He jerked his face away from her, then gently took her hand and lowered it down to the table.

The man could take her curiosity, her cynicism, even her amusement, but not her concern and certainly not her pity. For a moment Zoe felt sorry for him, but she knew after tonight, that whatever had happened, John Reese had played a key part in it - no, had probably started it, then had been shocked and devastated at the results.

Men were so stupid sometimes.

Zoe took out her handheld, keyed in a number. She knew he'd pay whatever she charged. It was better for both of them, better to think that he was a client, that she had given him what he wanted, if not what he needed.

Only one woman could do that.

Plus, what she was doing was also extremely practical. Zoe liked working with John and his mysterious friend – they had opened her up to a whole other side of this great city, adding to her strongest currency as a fixer - knowledge. By doing this, they'd be able to work together in the future.

Reese nodded at the screen. "You'll have it this morning."

"There's no rush," she stood, leaned over and kissed his cheek. "I know you're good for it."

"Zoe…"

"Don't say it." She smiled. "We both know you're not, John."

XXX

As the elevator descended to the lobby, Zoe mused that perhaps someday, she would take the little detective aside for a talk and find out what really went down between her and John Reese. If that ever happened, Zoe smiled – _she'd_ pay _her_ for that information.

Her first client was in an hour – a possible candidate for city council, he had an issue in his past that needed to be resolved – or sent out of town for a few months.

As she left the hotel, her body remembered the way John touched her. John Reese was good, incredible actually – and that was with someone he didn't care about.

Imagine what he would be like with someone he loved.

The bright sunlight suddenly hurt her eyes. Zoe put on her sunglasses.

The doorman asked her if she needed a cab.

She squared her shoulders, shook her head and walked away.

XXX

Reese was tired.

Tired of trying to get her out of his thoughts, tired of finding things that reminded him of her, tired of following her, tired of standing outside her apartment, tired of seeing her with other me-

Tired.

So he approached another woman instead. Almost immediately he knew it was a mistake, but she was here, she was willing and he was tired of having his hand and some spit around his cock. He'd slept with the other woman, but he'd made love to her instead.

And now, Reese wanted her more than ever.

The decanter of Scotch, freshly replenished, beckoned to him. He closed his eyes for a moment, then walked over to the bar.

A/N: Next, we'll learn a little more about what led to the change in Reese and Carter's relationship and in the following chapter, someone gets a taste of their own medicine and John has a brief conversation with an old adversary.


	6. Chapter 6

Near Death Experience – Chapter 6

A/N: This chapter gives us a little more information of the events leading towards such a drastic change in Reese and Carter's relationship. This chapter is from Reese's POV.

John Reese stood in the darkness, watching Jocelyn Carter standing on the walkway.

She looked regal, facing the Manhattan skyline. He wondered how long she had been waiting. There is an old joke that the only hassle free way to get to Rikers Island is to be arrested and apparently the hassles extended to getting _off_ the island as well.

Rikers doesn't provide transportation for its guests, even the ones released as being innocent. While everyone in the city knows about the jail, few know where it is or even how to get there.

The city's administrators seem to want to forget it, too – located in the Bronx, it has a Queens zip code and the three lane bridge to the island is unmarked.

The Metropolitan Transit Authority does provide bus service and eventually Reese was able to make his way off the island.

He didn't bother picking up a burner phone to call her as he crossed the city. He knew where she'd be.

"Looking for someone?" he said as he walked up beside her.

She didn't look at him, but he could see the small smile on her face. "No one in particular."

It was their code, the way they greeted each other here.

Reese and Joss met at this site often – it was beautiful, yet anonymous – the type of place whose name you can never remember. They'd discuss cases, arguing over how they were solved, congratulating and chastising each other over the tactics, techniques and tools used.

They'd discuss what was going on in the city – Reese would bait her with some outrageous comment and Joss would quiz him on his ever increasing knowledge of New York and its neighborhoods.

Sometimes, hesitantly, they'd discuss other things – personal things, but keeping it light. The last time they had met here, Reese had loved the sound of her laughter when he told her how he'd caught Harold feeding Bear ice cream after being lectured sternly not to, complete with facts, figures and a chart of a dog's anatomy taped to the plexi-glass, just the day before.

They'd invite Finch and Fusco, but Harold always had some secret activity he was busy with and while Lionel had joined them a couple of times, he'd begged off any other invitations.

Reese understood – the language that he and Joss had developed was so unique, so personal between the two of them, Lionel probably felt like he was attending someone else's high school reunion, where everybody knows about the good old days except you.

They tried to fill you in, but after a while they gave up and you just sat there nodding and smiling politely, counting the minutes until the evening was over.

Tonight was different. Finch was probably on his way and he'd thought that Fusco would be here already.

"Fusco didn't want to celebrate my release?"

"Finch has him tied up with something." Joss replied.

Good. It would be just the two of them for a few moments. They turned and started walking.

"I just want to say, thank you. I couldn't have gotten through this without…a friend to talk to."

Joss looked at him. Her collar was turned up and even though the coat was dark, the inside of her collar seemed to glow, giving her skin a rosy tint as it framed her face beautifully.

"So…was any of it true?" she asked.

Joss knew it was, but it was one thing to tell the truth, another to acknowledge that you told it, after the last drink was poured, or in the clear light of day, or when you wake up to the stranger beside you.

Or in their case, after they had told so many other lies, about so many other things.

They heard a click and Reese never got to answer her.

XXX

Reese couldn't believe how calm Joss was.

Handcuffed, with her career, her reputation, her family, her _life_ in ruins, she was quietly asking Donnelly questions. It wasn't until the FBI agent asked what her price was that she reacted, and even then she defended _him_, said he was a friend, called him a good man.

He couldn't meet her eyes.

XXX

Reese heard Joss scream, then fall silent. He was able to reach out his hand to touch her, but then he heard footsteps, not the quick, panicked ones of a Good Samaritan wanting to help or the excited, jittery ones of a ghoul wanting to take a look at the carnage, but the slow measured steps of a predator, tracking down its prey.

He pressed Joss' body down, but he knew it wouldn't be enough.

Reese saw flashes of red again, but this time he knew it was Joss' blood.

XXX

_What does it say about you when the longest adult relationship you've had with a woman, was with one who was a murderous psychopath?_

"You're Stanton, I'm –"

"No, you're not. The ID NCS gave you didn't pass muster, so you're nobody. Which means _I_ get to name you."*

"Hey lover, miss me?"

The words echoed in Reese's mind as he struggled to reach consciousness.

He loved Jessica, but barely knew her. Hated Kara, but knew her better than anyone.

Physically they were similar: tall and slender with willowy, graceful figures, long oval faces, high cheekbones, wide smiles, clear pale skin – even their hairstyles were similar, only the color was different. They were both good at what they did, both had laughter in their voices, but the laughter in Jess' voice made you smile, while Kara's gave you a chill, because you knew that killing made her laugh the most.

During the six months he was with Jess, with his being on duty and her shifts at the hospital, they didn't get to spend a lot of time together; with Kara, he spent days and weeks in her presence, usually in some far off land where they knew no one else, totally reliant on each other for their very survival.

Reese had basked in Jessica's presence, content to float in her warmth and kindness; with Kara, he thought he'd pushed back at her prickliness and sarcasm, but he realized later that he merely reacted, usually either with a cold silence or some sort of outburst. She'd laugh and tell him to lighten up, but he knew that she was adding to her arsenal, her weapons of control.

Kara loved killing and not just with bullets. She was the master of the cruel quip or snide comment – something the recipient would harbor for days, weeks, perhaps years afterwards, those internal wounds that scab over, but never really heal.

Reese learned that her favorite targets were teenage girls and she planned those assaults with the utmost care, making sure there was some sort of audience to witness their humiliation – a girlfriend, a rival, or especially a boy they liked.

When he dragged her out of a shop in the bustling Liverpool One shopping complex as she reduced a young girl to tears, her eyes glittered. "There's no Merit Badge** for lost causes, John, I thought you knew that. But then you're always a little slow on the uptake. Fortunately for you, I keep you around because your trigger finger is faster than your brain."

His eyes narrowed and she smiled, waiting for his reaction, but instead, seconds later, he shot a man, settling him quietly on a bench while unsuspecting shoppers milled about. A photograph fluttered to the floor. Her photograph.

Reese pulled back the man's sleeve, revealing his tattoo – the dead man was part of a group of Eastern Europeans they'd been forced to fleece when a member of their team bungled the funding for an arms shipment. Kara had stood out as the only woman of the group and somehow the Eastern Europeans had been able to track her.

Reese picked up the photo, then took her elbow as they pivoted and walked smoothly away, just another couple in the crowd. "Guess he won't be getting his Merit Badge in Photography, _fortunately_ _for you_, Kara."

As much as she seemed to hate humans, Kara loved animals. Reese knew that she had anonymously donated her considerable inheritance to animal rights causes and when they were at CIA headquarters in Langley, Virginia, she would visit a private animal shelter, spending hours there.

At Boulder Beach in South Africa, Kara eagerly watched the penguins as they swam and scampered about. When one approached them solemnly, she grabbed Reese's hand, laughing delightedly as the creature stood less than a yard away, watching them, as if it knew the real reason for their visit.

An hour later, they found their target, an American who used his legitimate skills as an animal behavior specialist to travel the world, selling secrets to the highest bidder, and eliminated him.

He'd lasted by far the longest with her – Reese found out a year after they started working together that there had been a pool betting on how long he would survive – a number had died during the course of a mission, but since the outcome was always successful, their loss was acceptable.

There were whispers, of course, that senior management wanted those losses as the fewer people who knew about certain missions, the better.

An Annapolis graduate, a Marine, fluent in Mandarin Chinese and highly proficient in a variety of areas, Kara was essential, they felt. Her partners, if they could be called that, while skilled, were primarily for muscle and clean up.

Others asked for transfers, and one went off into the night and was never heard from again.

When Reese saw the odds, he realized he could have made a small fortune, betting on himself. He wasn't surprised to see that Kara had wagered he wouldn't last a month.

They became lovers after a killing in Paris, grappling as they fell to the floor, removing just enough clothing to slam their genitals together. Their couplings were like their killings – harsh and brutally efficient, the release sharp and searing.

She clawed and scratched and bit, but not in the throes of passion or even as a mark of sexual possession – digging her fingers into a sore spot, smiling if he winced or better still, if blood oozed from it – a sign of ownership perhaps.

When he in turn took her roughly, almost cruelly, she loved thinking that she had driven him to it, that he wanted to punish her that way.

As with everything else, Kara pushed in bed, introducing her own unique pleasures and here was where he finally, quietly, firmly pushed back. Her eyes would flicker, but she would accept it. She had always respected his skills, now she slowly began to respect him as well.

They became better, more equal partners.

Sometimes, there were even brief moments of tenderness between them.

If he had changed his phone number and Ordos hadn't happened they might be working together still.

When they first met and she told him that his name didn't check out, he knew it was a lie - she always changed something about her partners from the start – but he didn't challenge her, didn't dispute her assertion that he was nobody.

He wondered how their relationship would have developed if he had.

Kara had been almost everything – his teacher, his mentor, his constant companion, his partner, his lover, but Reese never forgot that she was not his friend.

He kept the name she gave him, Reese, as a reminder of the power and consequences of choices.

XXX

Reese had the dream again, only this time it was a little longer.

_They found the little girl hours outside of the city. She shrank back when she saw Reese – it was men who had kidnapped her and taken her away from her family, men who were going to kill her even after the ransom had been paid – but then shyly held her hand out to Joss. _

_While Reese drove, Joss sat with the little girl in the back of the car, talking to her, gradually getting her trust. They stopped for food on the way and Joss displayed that perfect combination of firmness and caring when she told the little girl that she would have milk instead of soda and an apple instead of fries. _

_Finally the little girl slid into Joss' lap and put her arms around her neck, half asleep as she played with Joss' hair. Joss sang softly to her, her eyes occasionally meeting Reese's in the rear view mirror. _

_They had gotten there in time._

_When they arrived at her parents' house, Joss' hair was askew and Reese pulled the red hair elastic free and then ran his finger along her temple, gently pushing an errant strand of hair behind her ear, cupping her face as he felt her soft skin. _

The part of his brain that was struggling to wake up knew that he hadn't run his finger along her temple, hadn't pushed back her hair, hadn't cupped her face, but the part that wanted to sleep kept trying to see what happened next, both sides stating their case in his mind.

His head fell back, hit something hard.

Reese opened his eyes. It was morning, he was on a bus and the woman that he thought had died almost two years ago was sitting across from him.

"Welcome back, John."

"Kara."

He was a captive again and this time the conditions included extreme danger, certain pain and imminent death.

Now he could focus.

XXX

"The lights should come on completely in a few minutes, boys," Kara said as she motioned them into the space.

She laughed. "It's kind of romantic. You know, Mark, John rubbed you the wrong way from the moment we met…I couldn't tell if you wanted to fuck him up or just fuck him. Hell, I could never figure out which way you swung, or if you even swung at all…you've got time to figure that out today. Wish me luck – your lives depend upon it."

The door closed and the two men stood in the semi-darkness. The space was metal with smooth floors and walls. Reese heard a slight hum as the lights in the ceiling slowly came on.

There was no furniture and just some paper cups in a corner, presumably if they needed to relieve themselves.

Reese thought back to the first day that they had met their new handler, Mark Snow. He and Kara had been working together for over two years and were building a reputation as a team within the agency.

He'd heard some of the nicknames – Tall, Dark and Deadly, Ebony and Ivory - due to their dark hair and pale skin, and his personal favorite, Bonny and Fried***, where he got to be the bonny one.

Mark Snow was an up and comer, known to be coolly analytical but not afraid to do a little wet work as well. Kara was happy about this – their last handler had been squeamish about getting involved and there had been a few tight situations where another gun would have helped - but Reese also suspected that she was playing the angles as well. Having Snow get directly involved in their work gave her a chance to study him under stressful conditions, find his pressure points and devise ways to control him.

Snow was standing, on his desk phone with his back to them as they walked into his office. Waving at them to take a seat, he continued talking.

Reese sat there for a minute, then leaned forward and disconnected the call.

Snow stood still, then slowly turned around, locking eyes with Reese.

Kara smiled, "Reese has a point. We flew twenty hours to get here, Mark. Shouldn't we get started?"

Snow was good, though Kara noted that he was more dogged than bright. He treated her like an equal, whereas with Reese, he kept looking for ways to demonstrate his dominance, the tactics changing daily, but never winning.

Kara enjoyed the non-battle battle. One day after a particularly sharp exchange between the two men, she cooed, "You know Mark, the rule for career advancement is to have people who are smarter than you, but not better looking. John is quite the physical specimen, so nobody can hold that against you – few can beat him there. But, in the brains department…," she laughed, "and you still can't beat him.

Patting Snow gently on the shoulder, she walked away. "So sad you failed on so many counts."

Snow never realized that he couldn't win because Reese didn't care. He knew how petty and small minded the man was from the stunt he'd tried to pull in his office. When they walked in, Reese saw that Snow's office overlooked the length of the courtyard that led visitors from the parking lot to the main entrance.

He had summoned them from hours away, he had watched them walk the long courtyard, and then he tried to make them wait.

The mission they were supposed to discuss was complex, extremely dangerous and for senior management, high profile.

Yet Snow had wanted them to wait, while he finished some innocuous call.

Whatever motivations Kara had for the way she was, she did believe in what they were doing, believed it served some greater purpose and she was willing to be the instrument that carried it out.

When Reese looked into Snow's eyes, he saw a man who cared for nothing, except perhaps his own ambition.

XXX

"When I pulled you from the wreckage I told Kara that Carter was dead." Mark Snow said.

Reese didn't turn from examining the door of the container that Kara had sealed them in. After they retrieved the hard drive that morning, Kara apparently had some other errands to run, so she put them in a sealed container. Her controls were two fold – the countdown timer had been set on the bomb vests and a gauge on the wall indicated how much air remained in the room. Either they would blow up or suffocate if she didn't return in time.

"She can't hear us. Transmissions are blocked."

Reese still didn't turn around. He was waiting for Snow to tell the truth. If Joss was left alive, it was because Kara had a reason, not because of Mark Snow.

Finally Snow let out an irritated sigh. "Kara kept her alive as a backup."

Reese turned around. Snow was sitting on the floor, slumped against a wall, looking straight ahead. "Kara knew, when I drew Carter out weeks ago, that she was somehow important to you – knew I wouldn't have risked it otherwise." He turned his head and looked at Reese.

Reese nodded. "She would have been abducted this morning to force me to cooperate."

Kara had planned everything very carefully, right down to the way they traveled through the city – by bus, through interior courtyards – places where there were lots of people, little opportunity to take the wheel or even dart into traffic until she felt comfortable that he would follow orders.

Waiting to take Joss, if he had proved disruptive, would have been more effective that holding her right after the crash – Reese would know that he was directly responsible. No doubt Kara had a team of mercenaries on standby.

Reese stepped into the space, standing across from Snow. He knew this wouldn't last, that once Kara let them out, Mark would scheme to save his own skin, damn the consequences, but for now he needed to know whatever his former colleague knew, even though he sensed it wasn't much. He squatted down, listened as Snow relayed everything he had done since he was taken by Kara, including his encounters with Joss.

"You know Carter still tried to help me, after…" Snow looked away.

"After you lied to her, tricked her, harassed her, threatened her career and her family and almost got her killed?" Reese said softly, as if he was talking to himself.

Snow shook his head in disbelief. "I don't know why anyone would do that."

Reese knew that Snow really didn't understand, would never understand. He saw a flash of red. "Some people are funny that way."

They heard a scraping sound. Kara opened the door, smiling. "I hope you two were able to work out your issues. How 'bout a group hug…no? Maybe another time. What do you say we grab something to eat? It's my treat."

Snow looked at her. "A last supper, Kara?"

Kara's eyes flicked to her phone as she reset the timers on the bomb vests. "Actually, Mark, considering the time, more like the early bird special for a bunch of retirees like us. Well, John and I were forced into early retirement. But don't worry, you'll get your retirement package soon."

*POI, Season 1 Episode, Foe

** The Boy Scouts of America have currently over 120 merit badges, including one for photography, but Kara is right, there isn't one for lost causes.

***Bonny and Fried is my twisting of the duo Bonnie and Clyde, Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow, who as part of the Barrow gang, committed at least a dozen murders and numerous robberies throughout the US Midwest in the 1930s. A film about them, starring Warren Beatty and Faye Dunaway, was made in 1967 and there was a musical on Broadway in 2011.

A/N: We saw evidence of Snow's pettiness in the Season one episode, Super, when in a scene with his partner Evans, he doesn't bring him a cup of coffee because Evans didn't kill Reese, telling him, "Coffee is for closers."

Next: Someone gets a taste of their own medicine, Reese has a brief conversation with an old adversary and Joss makes a decision.


	7. Chapter 7

Near Death Experience – Chapter 7

A/N: In this chapter, someone gets a taste of their own medicine, Reese has a brief conversation with an old adversary and Joss makes a decision. This chapter is from three POVs – Hess, Elias and Reese's.

Hess was supposed to be shipped to Guantanamo today, but the transfer was delayed, so he didn't know what to expect when the guard brought him to one of the interrogation rooms that evening.

Perhaps the government _did_ want to make a deal with him – he had done work for several terrorist groups and offered to give up some key information in exchange for better accommodations.

In the aftermath of the death of the FBI agent who had brought them all in, nobody wanted to be associated with that fiasco, so he had languished in his cell, waiting.

Finally, they must have found some poor sap to sign off on the paperwork and Hess was informed a few days ago that he was being transferred.

During his time here, Hess couldn't get anybody even willing to talk to him, much less make a deal, but perhaps cooler heads, recognizing the value of what he had to offer, had prevailed, he thought.

So he was stunned when it wasn't a government type who walked into the room, but one of the men he had been captured with.

Somehow Warren, if that was his real name, had managed to get released; Hess knew that Kelly had supposedly hung himself in his cell and McAvoy had already been shipped out to his native Texas to await trial weeks ago after spilling his guts to whoever would listen about the stupid little jobs he had done - Hess was surprised that the Chris Martin look alike hadn't been caught a long time ago.

Warren wasn't a Fed, Hess was sure of that; as they were being processed, he recognized some of the mannerisms that indicated similar training and probably similar deeds, but there was something about this man that was different.

He had better clothes and definitely had better friends, Hess thought.

The tall dark haired man stared at him. Hess noted that he seemed extremely tired, almost drained, but then he moved with a quickness that caught Hess off guard, slamming him against the wall. Hess could smell the faint scent of liquor on his breath. He struggled to break free, but the man, while thin, was incredibly strong, immobilizing him in seconds.

Hess realized he was wrong - this man had training and skills vastly superior to his own. He could kill him as easily as breathing.

"Get the fuck off me," he snarled, but the man just stared at him with those cold, dead eyes.

Finally he spoke, his voice low and raspy as if he hadn't used it for a while. "You hurt a friend of mine."

"I don't know any of your 'friends'," Hess shot back, while his mind frantically searched back to anyone that might have a connection to his captor.

"You spent hours together, just the two of you. Here." He pressed the heel of his hand against Hess' neck.

Hess blinked. The little bitch interrogator? He was going to die because of _her_? He gasped out, "She pay you to do this? Or are you looking to get something else in return?"

The man didn't say anything, pressed harder.

Hess tried to smile lasciviously, but it was more like a grimace. "You know her skin was real soft. Can't tell you how many times I jacked off in here thinking about it, how those big tits bounced when I was choking her."

He groaned as the man pressed even harder. "I…think…no, I _know_ she…liked…it," Hess whispered, hoping the man would kill him quickly. "Try it…tonight…when…you…fuck…her."

The man smiled back, then looked off in the distance. "I can't take away what you did to her. I can't take away the crash. I can't take away Donnelly's death. I can't even take away what I did to her. But I can do this."

He whispered in Hess' ear as he started choking him. "And by the way, she'll never know."

XXX

Hess slowly pulled himself into a sitting position against the wall.

He was alive.

The man had choked the living daylights out of him, but he was alive.

Perhaps he could use this to his advantage. Tell the Feds that there were terrorist operatives in Rikers, how they had tried to silence him.

He looked up at the small, balding mild mannered looking man who had just entered the room. "Ah, Mr. Hess, I'm glad you're awake. You have another visitor."

Two guards walked into the room, followed by a tiny man, carrying a small valise. Hess' blood ran cold.

Carl Elias smiled benignly. "I believe you know Mr. Santee. He's going to prepare you for transport from the facility tonight. Apparently you have some colleagues who are eager to talk to you."

Santee worked for one of the terrorist organizations that Hess provided services for. Hess knew that whatever Santee had in his valise would make it appear as though he had died suddenly. He would be transferred out of Rikers, but not to a morgue – he would go to the terrorist group, be brutally tortured to see if he had given up any information to the Feds and then killed, his body put on display as a warning to others, left to the vultures and the sun.

He hoped. He knew there were some who were put out while they were still alive.

Elias shook his head. "Not only did you do work not sanctioned by Mr. Santee's organization, but you managed to get yourself captured in my city. I am many things, Mr. Hess, but I am also a patriot as well. Terrorists and the men who work for terrorists, have no place here." He walked out.

Hess tried to struggle, but the guards held him down. The last thing he saw was Santee walking towards him with a syringe.

XXX

"Elias."

"I admit that I wasn't expecting to see you again so soon, John. I trust that the visit was satisfactory."

The two men stood in a courtyard that was supposed to be for the warden's private use.

Reese flexed his hands. "What do you want in return, Elias?"

Elias looked hurt. "As I said, just the pleasure of your company for a few moments, John."

He didn't add that neatly disposing of Hess had eliminated a problem that the FBI and the CIA wanted to go away as they both tried to deal with fallout from the events at Rikers, Donnelly's death and the explosion in the city.

The crime boss now had a few 'special considerations' as he preferred to call them – chits sounded so crude and these were much more than simple favors - neatly stored away for future use.

Reese raised a skeptical eyebrow, then lowered it. He knew that Elias had his own agenda – if he didn't want anything from him, it meant that he'd gotten something more valuable from someone else.

"It can become tedious, predictable in here. And you, John, are never predictable. Your last visit was vastly entertaining. A prisoner killed in his cell, a false fire drill, a near riot in the yard, a government operative roaming about and a former Army interrogator almost getting choked to death. Throw in the FBI agent orchestrating the whole show being murdered and two rogue CIA operatives being blown to bits less than twenty four hours after you left – quite an array of events.

"I'm glad I could liven things up for you."

Elias smiled. "It was like one of those old television variety shows my foster mother used to watch – a little something for everyone." He adjusted his glasses. "And now tonight, a prisoner gets a taste of his own medicine. I have to ask - why didn't you kill him, John?"

"I wanted to." He _had_ wanted to, almost had – the thought of someone putting their hands on her, hurting her…but Reese knew that she already felt responsible for Donnelly's death. He couldn't add Hess on top of it.

Perhaps this was one promise he might be able to keep.

"Yet you've taken lives in the past. What was different about him? He did try to kill Detective Carter." Elias stepped closer, truly curious. "I teach here. I don't know if you were aware of that. So many of the young men here are illiterate – a pity. With education, their lives could have been so different, I'm sure you'll agree. In my more advanced classes, I present scenarios, questions for my students to ponder and respond to, verbally, and in written essays. I admit it's a fascinating question for me. Perhaps I'll frame it in a way so that it's fascinating for them as well. If you'd like, I could even share some of their responses with you."

Reese was silent.

Elias nodded. "As I said, you are never predictable. And don't worry, I won't mention this visit to Harold. Lovely to see you again, John."

XXX

Elias had made special arrangements for Reese's visit, so he was able to take one of Finch's cars and travel directly to the island and then leave from the warden's office for the drive back into Manhattan.

He found a secluded spot next to the church, watched the small crowd file in.

Joss walked slowly up the sidewalk, paused in front of the steps as if she was considering leaving, but Reese knew she would go inside.

"So good to see such a bright color! Nicholas would have appreciated it."

Joss turned questioningly to the older woman who briskly approached her, hands outstretched. "I'm Stella O'Connor, nee Donnelly - Nicholas' aunt."

She took Joss' hands in hers. Donnelly's aunt had the same eyes as her nephew, but she had a liveliness, a sunniness about her. She would have been the aunt who would have coaxed shy smiles from her nephew when he was a child and as an adult would have been one of the few people who could make Donnelly laugh, the low rumbling sound so rare, even within his own family, that they would turn around to see where the noise was coming from.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, Mrs. O'Connor." Joss said softly. "You came quite a distance, ma'am."

"Yes, the funeral was held back in Virginia some weeks ago, but when Nicky's parents were contacted about the memorial service here – well – it was important that someone from the family attend. I hope – it was such a shock about Nicky's passing – I hope this will be more of a celebration of his life, that's why I am so glad to see you in such a beautiful coat!" She smiled softly. "Will you sit with me? I want to know how you knew my nephew."

Joss nodded and the two women entered the church.

He waited, followed Joss as she left. At first her pace was quick and determined, but eventually it slowed and she turned right.

The coffee shop.

Joss stood in the shadows across the street. The kid was behind the counter tonight, his hands moving fluidly as he worked.

Reese had checked him out – he was smart, a hard worker, respected by his co-workers, close to his family.

Someone you'd want as a friend.

Idly, Reese thought he could have been a sniper – great eye-hand coordination, excellent balance, attention to detail, and a certain flair that all good snipers need to have.

Joss watched the kid and Reese watched her, waiting.

As the traffic went by, her face was lit by the headlights – she was so beautiful that men did double takes as they walked by, wanting to ease the yearning, the wistfulness, the sadness from her countenance.

She took several steps forward.

Reese held his breath as she stepped off the curb, as if she was going to cross the street, but then abruptly Joss turned back and left.

The kid looked to the right sharply and Reese knew that he had caught that flash of red out of the corner of his eye, even in the darkness.

Yes, he would have been a good sniper.

Reese followed her home. He watched as she worked quietly in the kitchen, as she emptied the shelves, as she washed every pan, dish and piece of flatware, the edge of her sleeves dripping with dishwater and suds. Tears ran silently down her face as she worked.

He watched until she dried and put everything away and then, almost stumbling with exhaustion, she lay down fully clothed, on her bed, eyes open for a long time until she finally fell asleep.

A/N: So we see John and Joss trying to come to grips with what is going on inside them, in their own way; John takes Hess to task for his attack on Joss (and I admit that part of me wanted to see Hess pay for choking our girl) and Joss is tempted, but decides not to approach the barista. These attempts, of course, don't deal with the real issue. It will all come to a head soon.

Next, more info leading to how their relationship changed and in the following chapter, we'll spend some time with Joss as she tries to deal rationally deal with irrationality.


	8. Chapter 8

Near Death Experience – Chapter 8

A/N: In this chapter, we continue to learn more about what led to the change in Reese and Carter's relationship. This chapter is from Reese's POV.

Years ago, before he was paired with Kara, Reese was part of a four man team that was tasked with blowing up enemy supply depots in the mountains of Afghanistan. The extraction helicopter crashed and they were pinned down in the darkness, watching their ammunition dwindle as they held off advancing insurgents, waiting for reinforcements to arrive. Most of the helicopter crew and the team were dead – all that remained were Reese and two other men, all seriously injured.

As the night went on, both sides went into a waiting game, waiting for dawn and the final assault.

Lying there in the freezing cold, the three Americans began talking about different movie characters last (not always dying) words, like "Well, here's another fine mess you've gotten me into.*", casually debating which one they would use:

"The horror, the horror." – Colonel Kurtz, _Apocalypse Now_

"Freedom!," William Wallace, _Braveheart_,

"Oh, Nooooo!" – _Goodfellas_

"Made it Ma, top of the world!" – _White Heat_. Appropriate, considering how high up they were.

"All those moments will be lost in time, like tears... in rain. Time... to die." – _Blade Runner_

"Rosebud." – they agreed that _Citizen Kane_ was one of those movies which everyone had heard of, but nobody ever saw.

"I'm ready for my close up, Mr. DeMille." One man piped up. But neither Reese or the other man knew the movie he was talking about, and he died shortly afterwards.**

"I have been, and always will be, your friend. Live long... and prosper." – Spock, _The Wrath of Khan_

"Nobody's perfect." – _Some Like It Hot_

By the time reinforcements arrived, Reese was the only one alive and as he was being carried into the helicopter, he tried, but couldn't remember which quote he said he would have used.

XXX

"John!"

Her voice had been like everything else about her - clear, determined and strong.

"Carter…"

He'd sounded old, weak and tired.

It used to be easier, Reese swore as he neared the door to the rooftop.

When Snow knocked him to the ground in the hallway, he'd just lay there. So what if he'd gone without sleep for days, been beaten, almost flattened by a truck, had a bomb vest attached to him and been left to die?

He should have been able to get up and make his way to the roof before Joss and Fusco arrived.

Reese had heard their footsteps, hell, he'd practically heard Fusco wheezing – Lionel looked like _he_ was going to die before Reese did.

But instead Reese just stood there.

Of course, it wasn't like in the movies, there were no quips or soaring declarations, no famous last words, nothing they would repeat if they raised a glass to him.

There were tears and clasped arms, one last look.

He'd said thank you. And perhaps that was enough.

In the end, it was like any other mission with the team. Reese had spoken to Finch on the phone, Fusco had done what he asked – after being told more than once - and Joss had argued and fussed at him.

Reese couldn't help but smile as he opened the rooftop door - she was still trying to tell him what to do.

XXX

Reese and Finch walked down to the twentieth floor and rode the elevator to the ground floor. The lobby was deserted as all of the emergency responders had run out of the building when they heard the explosion and they were able to walk outside and blend into the crowd viewing the aftermath of the blast. Curious bystanders, just like everyone else, they attracted no attention.

Reese kept the vest on – he'd remove it once they left the scene.

As Reese's eyes scanned the area, he made out Joss' and Fusco's silhouettes through the smoke on the other side. They were conferring with two other police officers. Joss' head tilted just a little their way and he knew she had seen them.

The police officers split up – Joss and Fusco headed one way and the other officers headed the other - and began pushing the crowd back – the heat from the explosion was so intense that small pieces from the wreckage were sizzling and spinning off, endangering the crowd. Fusco's raspy bark mingled with Joss' softer, but equally authoritative shout as they came closer.

One tearful bystander touched Joss' sleeve and she stopped, nodding to Fusco to continue. He moved towards Reese and Finch, paused for a second, raised an eyebrow and then moved on.

Joss spent a few moments with the bystander and then she began to walk towards them again. As she came closer, there was a scream as a piece of the wreckage flew at her. Reese surged forward, but the piece missed her and fell to the ground, his movement lost as a crush of people clustered around her, asking if she was okay.

"I'm okay, I'm okay, stay back, please!" Joss turned to Fusco, yelled that she was alright and then turned back to the crowd.

Her eyes met Finch's first, then slowly met Reese's. A sudden spurt of flames behind her lit her whole body in a corona of red as she gave him that look, the look that said that she wanted to hug him and slug him at the same time.

Then, just for a moment, her eyes were soft and there was the barest hint of a smile on her lips.

She continued on, moving the bystanders back.

Finch and Reese slipped around the corner, to Finch's car parked nearby.

"Is there anything you need, John?" Harold asked as he drove away.

Reese tossed the bomb vest in the back seat, smiling softly as Harold's wince as the contraption thudded to the floor. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment.

"A coat."

Finch frowned. "A coat?"

"For her…she needs a coat, Harold. A real coat."

Not that camel monstrosity or the gray schoolgirl coat. Even the coat she'd worn last night, while serviceable, didn't do Joss justice. It was a tribute to her beauty and the way she carried herself that she shone no matter what she wore.

"A real coat," Reese said again. "Red, made for her, a 'good winter coat.' My grandmother used to say that."

"I think all of our grandmothers said that," Finch smiled. "I'll take care of it."

They were silent the rest of the way, until Finch turned into John's street.

"Stop here, Harold."

"Here? Your building –"

"I know. Stop here."

Finch pulled over and Reese got out of the car. "You sure you'll be alright, John?"

"I'm fine, Harold. If anything –"

"Yes, John, I will. Get some rest…You can even take tomorrow off."

Reese raised an eyebrow. "A whole day, Harold?"

"I don't pay you to lounge around, Mr. Reese, I thought you knew that."

The two friends smiled at each other, then Reese watched as Harold slowly drove away. He had asked Finch to pull over several buildings away from his. Even though his body was screaming for sleep, he needed to walk for a few minutes, needed to feel the fresh air unencumbered before he stepped inside his loft.

The building next to his had been in the midst of being converted before the economic downturn and was in a state of suspended animation, occupied on one end, but deserted on the side that Reese slipped behind. There was a rickety looking open staircase on that end. Reese climbed it to the top – it was perfectly safe, he had carefully reinforced it himself, making sure that the repairs he'd made were undetectable from the rust and peeling paint – crossed the roof and then jumped across the narrow space between the two buildings.

He entered his building and moved undetected to his floor via the service elevator. As he retrieved his key from a hiding space in a janitorial closet and walked down the hall, he reflected that if he had been more careful about his movements last night - but then he put the thought away. Later, much, much later.

For the first time since Finch had given him the apartment, Reese truly appreciated the soaring open space. In the beginning he felt like a lab rat, on display round the clock. The first thing he had done was have motorized shades installed for the huge windows; later a separate bed had been put in the 'treehouse' space.

Over time he had gotten used to it. One of the things that he and Bear liked to do on those rare free afternoons after a long walk was stretch out on the bed in the main space and just lie there, enjoying the sun as it streamed through those windows. Bear would turn on his back, legs in the air and Reese would scratch his ears or his belly. Reese never fell asleep, but he would close his eyes and listen to Bear's happy snuffling.

Tonight he crossed the floor and stood in the middle of the space for a moment, then went into the kitchen and grabbed a beer, drinking it as he went into the bathroom.

As Reese undressed, he gave his body a cursory glance in the mirror. There were cuts, bruises and abrasions, of course.

He smiled grimly – hadn't all of his encounters with Kara ended up this way?

He could still see the outline of the bomb vest indenting his skin, but his white shirt wasn't as bloody as he thought it would be. Guess he didn't have time to bleed.***

Reese finished the beer and stepped into the shower, washing the last several days away.

He walked out dripping wet, smiling softly again as he imagined Harold's raised eyebrows at the splotches of water on the floor and crawled into bed.

XXX

For the first few hours, the practical part of his brain shut everything else down, focusing on rest and repair for his battered, exhausted body.

It was the darkness that woke him up. When Reese had gone to bed it was early evening and the lights in the buildings next to his were blazing. Now it was well after midnight and there were only a few lights burning, one right into the loft. Reese fumbled for the remote control that operated the shades, but then his eyes caught a tiny flash of red, near the windows.

Oddly comforted, he closed his eyes and went back to sleep. He had the dream again, but this time, it was so clear, so detailed, every moment as if it was happening now. Part of his brain wondered if his hands and feet were twitching, like Bear's paws did when he dreamed.

_He and Joss had run it seemed like for hours over the old factory site where the kidnappers had kept the little girl. Finch had searched in vain for blueprints, a layout, something that might give them a hint as to where the little girl was, but the site had been closed down for decades so there was nothing electronic. The small town's old paper records had been stored in an annex that had burned down years ago. They had listened to Fusco's agonized scream of horror as the kidnappers' van careened off a bridge into deep water while in pursuit. It would be hours before the vehicle could be raised and any information on where the little girl was could be discovered. _

_Joss held up her hand, closed her eyes. Reese stood there silently, watching her. Suddenly she took off, mud splashing against her pant legs._

_Stunned, Reese followed her. And then he heard it._

_A faint sound of running water._

_Muscles straining, the two of them managed to lift the grate over an old culvert that had taken all four kidnappers to move._

_It had poured for several days and water was making its way into the old drainage system. The forecast was for more rain later on today and overnight. She would drown as the water rose, her body possibly not found for days, if ever, her tiny frame decimated by the ravages of nature. _

_They crouched down, stepped slowly into the tunnel. The water was rising. Reese called the little girl's name but there was silence. Joss held her hand up again and Reese was silent. She called out the little girl's name. There was a faint splashing sound. She was inside._

_She shrank back when she saw Reese – it was men who had kidnapped her and taken her away from her family, men who were going to kill her even after the ransom had been paid – but then shyly held her hand out to Joss. _

_While Reese drove, Joss sat with the little girl in the back of the car, talking to her, gradually getting her trust. They stopped for food on the way and Joss displayed that perfect combination of firmness and caring when she told the little girl that she would have milk instead of soda and an apple instead of fries. _

_Finally the little girl slid into Joss' lap and put her arms around her neck, half asleep as she played with Joss' hair. Joss sang softly to her, her eyes occasionally meeting Reese's in the rear view mirror. _

_They had gotten there in time._

_When they arrived at her parents' house, Joss' hair was askew and Reese pulled the red hair elastic free and then ran his finger along her temple, gently pushing an errant strand of hair behind her ear, cupping her face as he felt her soft skin. She covered his hand with her own for a moment and then they delivered the little girl to her overjoyed parents._

Over and over he had the dream. The things that really happened became paler and paler and faded away. Now it was just the things that didn't happen, the things between the two of them.

He could smell the faint scent of jasmine and baby oil, even with the mud crusting around Joss' pant legs.

He could see the way she looked questioningly at him, those big brown eyes that could say a world's worth with just one glance.

He could hear his sharp intake of breath, when she finally smiled, a shy sweet smile, a smile that he knew was for him alone.

He could feel the tremors in his own body when she covered his hand with hers.

And then finally, as he woke up, he could taste her lips, that beautiful full mouth, when he kissed her.

XXX

A thin ray of sunlight was poking through the clouds when Reese opened his eyes. It was barely dawn and he wanted to roll over, wanted to fall back asleep and go into the dream again, when he saw the light hit something red on his desk.

He got up, walked over. The red hair elastic was wrapped around the handle of a mug that held pens and pencils, a tiny bit of bright color among the blacks, browns and soft blues and greens in his loft. He could even see a strand of her hair clinging to the material.

He'd had it all along.

XXX

Reese made himself a cup of coffee sipping it slowly. He walked back into the bathroom and gathered his clothes and threw them away. He went to his closet, selected a new complete outfit to wear, the suit black as ink, the shirt white as a cloud, the shoes so shiny he could see his reflection in them. He showered again, shaved meticulously and dressed.

Before he left, he turned the mug on his desk around so that the handle was no longer visible.

He'd give the red hair elastic back to her when she came to his apartment.

*Oliver Hardy would say this to his comedy partner Stan Laurel in their movies.

**Sunset Boulevard (1950)

***I ain't got time to bleed." – Blain, _Predator_ (1987)

A/N: I only noted a few characters' names. Reese and the other soldiers would only remember a few of them; most of their recollections would be "you know, the guy in…"

_Apocalypse Now _(1979), _Braveheart _(1995),_ Goodfellas _(1990),_ White Heat _(1949),_ Blade Runner _(1982),

_Citizen Kane_ (1939), Star Trek: _The Wrath of Khan (1982), Some Like It Hot _(1959)

Next, we'll spend some time with Joss.


	9. Chapter 9

Near Death Experience – Chapter 9

A/N: In this chapter, Joss tries to make rational sense of the irrational. There are three POVs – Moss', Joss' and Rafael Alvarez – he was the firefighter who helped Joss solve the murder of baby Leila's mother in the Season One episode, Baby Blue.

FBI Agent Brian Moss breathed a sigh of relief as he entered the church. At last something went right.

Moss had never worked directly with Nicholas Donnelly, but the man had garnered an excellent reputation in the Bureau's Boston office and Moss expected that Donnelly would do well here. He was intelligent, a hard worker and determined, if a little humorless - newcomers to the New York office often were at first – it was a highly sought after post, and it took them a while to realize it was no different than any other office.

Over time they relaxed. But Donnelly never did.

Moss supposed it had to do with this whole Man in the Suit thing.

Donnelly had spent months chasing him, had authorized the spending of huge amounts of money and resources on the pursuit, had even gotten a NYPD detective a temporary FBI post, which had raised more than a few eyebrows.

The rumor that Donnelly had finally cornered him had rocketed through the office, and even people who didn't know what the case was about were smiling – the explosion under the bank was the morning's top news story and everyone at the Bureau expected a news conference shortly – a nice double play that would give the Bureau positive publicity for several days.

Then, in a blink of an eye, it all went to shit.

Complaints from the Mayor's office, NYPD, the Corrections department and anybody who could fill out a form were dropping like confetti on the Director's desk.

Everyone was holding their breath, anticipating that the man who was beaten – an innocent man, by the way, who was released – would be filing a massive lawsuit any day now.

Even some of the prisoners, sensing blood in the water, threatened to sue, citing mental anguish for viewing the assault.

There was so much scrambling, backtracking and spinning it made your stomach turn, no more so than with scheduling a memorial service for the fallen agent.

New York said Boston should do it because he had worked there the longest; Boston said New York should do it because that was where he was assigned at the time of his death; New York said he hadn't been here a year yet and that he was still being carried on Boston's personnel roster; Boston shot back that he'd been able to authorize spending via New York's budget, so he was officially New York's and so on…

Bottom line, nobody wanted to be associated with it.

Finally Moss and a few other senior agents from both offices had a closed door video conference with management and the service was scheduled.

But even then, the shit continued to roll downhill.

This morning, Moss walked into a cluster of staffers whispering that there had been a massive screw up – many of the invitations and emails for the service had never been sent out.

When he told them that every person on the list was going to be called by nine AM and that any local invitees would have their invitations hand delivered by noon they just looked at him.

Moss rarely showed any emotion, even when he was furious.

He raised an eyebrow.

They scrambled to make the calls and deliveries and by eleven o'clock that morning there was a respectable number of attendees for the service. Moss himself called several whose feathers he knew would be ruffled by what they would perceive as a snub for not receiving an invitation sooner.

Situation under control, he thought as he left for a meeting with the SEC on a fraud case.

But that afternoon, Moss returned to the office to see another cluster of staffers, whispering. The flight information for Donnelly's aunt was wrong, so nobody had met her at the airport. He cringed when he heard her cheery message that there must have some mix up, but she would find her way to the church on her own.

They hadn't been able to locate her. A sixty-seven year old housewife. Not a trace. It was as though she vanished.

Thank God _Law and Order_ wasn't on the air any more – this was the perfect setup for a 'ripped from the headlines' episode.

Moss never raised his voice, but the reaming out he gave the staff was already legendary.

"We're the Goddamn _FBI_, for fucking Christ's sake – _we find people_! Are you telling me that we literally can't find some little old lady from Virginia?!"

But there she was, sitting in a pew with the NYPD detective Donnelly had worked with, Jocelyn Carter.

Detective Carter was one of the people contacted today about the memorial service.

Moss watched the two women for a moment. Donnelly aunt's was talking and he could see that the detective was listening, really listening, a rare talent these days.

He'd met Carter at the crash scene and he could tell that she was good at her job, just from a brief conversation. When he asked her opinion about Donnelly, she said that he was a good agent and Moss could tell she meant it.

The detective had conducted herself well at Rikers and while she seemed surprised when he told her the case against the Man in the Suit had been closed, she didn't make waves. Smart.

She'd done her duty – more than her duty, if the rumors of her being assaulted at the jail were true - unfortunately it seemed as though everybody else had fucked up, including, sad to say, the late Nicholas Donnelly.

XXX

They say that when you make an assertion or a commitment about something, the universe will issue a challenge to test your resolve.

Give up sweets – there's a cupcake on your desk.

Commit to walking every day – it snows the next morning.

Tell yourself that you've accepted your role in a man's death – his aunt asks you to sit with her at his memorial service.

Joss was contacted this morning that a memorial service for Donnelly was scheduled for this evening. She had meetings scheduled through the day with the DA's office for a case she was scheduled to testify on next week, so there wasn't any time to go home and change.

Fortunately Joss always kept a simple black dress in her locker at the precinct – there were times where she'd have to make an unexpected appearance in front of a judge and she knew that with some, dressing a little more formally was required.

She'd stick out like a sore thumb in the red coat, but it couldn't be helped.

Fusco stood up as she got ready to leave and she knew that he was going to offer to accompany her, but Joss shook her head no – she had to do this alone.

The service was being held near the precinct so Joss walked. She knew that she was going to be a little early, but she wanted to collect herself before the rest of the mourners arrived.

Joss had only felt that wisp, that sense of being followed when she was in front of the church, but she supposed it was only right that of all places, she should feel some sort of presence in the air here.

XXX

Stella Donnelly O'Connor was the aunt everyone should have, Joss thought as they settled in the front pew – as a little kid, she would be the aunt who let you try a sip of coffee, who let you stay up just a little bit longer than your bedtime, who would ride the scary rides with you at the carnival.

When you were a teenager, she would be the aunt who slipped you some money whenever you came to visit, who listened when you raged against your parents and who taught you how to parallel park.

And when you were an adult she was the aunt who made people laugh when she gave the eulogy at your funeral.

Her eyes were bright with unshed tears and Joss could tell this was someone who never wanted anyone to suffer, even if it meant holding her own suffering in. She was determinedly optimistic, so she commented on how nice the weather was, how interesting the trip to New York had been and how beautiful the church was.

"So, a police officer! You must get such satisfaction out of helping people." All of the sudden she tilted her head at Joss. "I knew your name sounded familiar – you sent flowers! Did you know Nicky well?"

"We worked on a case together, Mrs. O'Connor."

"It must have been very important to involve the FBI and the New York police department. Was it the case that Nicky was working on when he – died?"

Joss nodded. "Yes, it was."

"You must be very good – Nicky only worked with the best people. He was always so dedicated – when he was a little boy, one year he decided to read the entire World Book encyclopedia and he did it. So many pages every night, no matter what. Even took a volume with him on a family trip to Florida.

Joss smiled at the thought of a determined young Donnelly in the back seat of the family car, reading as it sped along the highway.

Donnelly's aunt smiled back. "He was always so focused, so," she stretched her arm out, "full speed ahead. I only wish that sometimes – well – sometimes you find the best things, you know, when you get off the path. When I was a teenage girl, I decided to take a right turn and it changed my life."

"What happened, Mrs. O'Connor?"

"Well, I was driving along and I saw a sign that said 'Fresh Strawberries – Five Miles Ahead' with an arrow pointing to the right. Now, the only reason I had my daddy's car was that I was delivering some items to my gran's and I was supposed to go straight there and come right back, but I thought, it's a nice day, I'm early and I'll bring some strawberries, too.

The older woman shook her head. "Well of course, the road was terrible, somehow I missed the next turnoff and I got a flat. There I was, a seventeen year old girl by the side of the road with no idea of how to change a tire. All the sudden I heard a roar and a man rode up on a motorcycle."

She smiled. "I'd had never seen anyone like him – he had square sunglasses, I learned they were called granny glasses later on, and long hair. At first I told him that I was perfectly fine, and tried to send him on his way, but he insisted, and he changed the tire."

"You married him." Joss said.

She nodded. "That right turn was the best thing I ever did."

"Your husband didn't accompany you today, Mrs. O'Connor?"

"He had an accident last year – that damn motorcycle – and he's still recovering. Some days he doesn't know who I am," she flashed a determined smile, and Joss knew that Stella O'Connor was much more like her nephew than she let on, "but we're getting through it and he's going to be fine."

"I'm sure he will be."

Stella nodded. "Now, _you_ must have taken a few right turns in your life," she fingered Joss' sleeve. "This stunning coat, for example. I have a feeling that you didn't buy this for yourself."

"No, you're right, I didn't." Joss replied.

Stella tilted her head at her. "I bet he's something."

Joss nodded, smiling softly. "He is."

_He left me._

Stella squeezed her hand, smiling back.

"Mrs. O'Connor? I'm Brian Moss. I'm glad you were able to find the church." The FBI agent shook her hand, nodding at Joss.

"Oh, Mr. Moss! Well, it was an adventure, but I'm here. And this lovely young woman kept me company, so everything worked out wonderfully. Please join us."

XXX

Joss stood there for a while watching the barista work. She knew that others in the shop were watching those long fingers, imagining they were caressing them instead of those coffee cups. He was so good at what he did, she thought and not just technically good – she had watched him before that night, before he had even approached her, and she had been impressed at how well he handled himself with all the craziness that could walk in the shop in that proverbial New York minute.

When she'd spent that night with him, they talked and while she knew that he didn't take things for granted, knew that he expected to work hard, he also had that confidence, that quiet certainty that things would work out.

He kept a notebook and he would write a brief review of his workday every night, noting any mistakes or areas for improvement, his ideas for dealing with them and then later, comments on whether his solution worked or not and his plans for next time.

He was already handsome, but she knew in a few short years he would fully come into his own and become truly stunning, the kind of man whose smile as he walked by would leave you immobile, unable to utter an intelligible word but with the feeling that, yes, _this_ is what God intended when he created Man.

Like someone else.

She wondered if he had ever been that confident about life, if he had been ever that _sure_.

Joss hadn't been in the coffee shop since that night, hadn't seen or spoken to the barista. That Monday a small bouquet of flowers had been delivered to her desk at the precinct. The card was blank, but she knew it was from him.

Of course Joss hadn't responded. She couldn't.

That night was a mistake, one she was determined not to repeat.

But here she was, watching him.

She could just go in for a minute, get a cup of coffee to go.

She could just say hello to him.

She could thank him for the flowers.

And she'd leave right after that.

She could do that.

Joss knew that if she walked into the coffee shop, that even if he was angry, even if he was hurt, even if he already had plans for the rest of the evening, he would smile, he would forgive her, he would drop everything just to be with her, even if it was only for a few hours, even if there wasn't a promise of anything more.

_He wouldn't leave her. _

Joss walked forward.

She stepped off the curb.

She could just go in for a minute.

Just a minute.

She could do that.

She closed her eyes for a moment, then turned around and left.

XXX

"Goin' to polish the underside of the 'frig today, B. Rachael?"

Joss couldn't help but laugh when her son walked into the kitchen with a pair of sunglasses on, his hands in front of face as if he was warding off some bright light. "Come on, Taylor, I'm not that bad."

"_You_ come on, Mom, this place glows in the dark!" he laughed.

"It's just a little spring cleaning."

"Mom, check the calendar, it's not even close to spring," he said as he took a box of cereal out of the cupboard.

Taylor was right. Joss had cleaned and scrubbed and purged, organized and rearranged and repurposed, steamed carpets, stripped floors, washed windows, polished and waxed and refurbished. She had pulled out appliances, categorized recipes by the meal and the primary ingredient, conducted a complete home inventory.

Their apartment was never a disaster, but now it was so clean, so organized, so lemony fresh, that her son had started calling her B. Rachael, a mashup of B. Smith and Rachael Ray.

She'd upped her jogging regimen and was putting in ten miles a day. Always good about her paperwork, not only was she caught up, but she'd gotten several other detectives, including Kane and Terney, caught up on theirs, too.

She quizzed Szymanski on the exam he was planning on taking for the next grade in the detective hierarchy.

When their captain asked for volunteers to review and categorize old case files so that they could be scanned, an odious task that involved digging through dusty, dirty boxes in the drafty old annex building, she raised her hand.

She baked hundreds of cupcakes for an event at her mother's church and attended several webinars concerning legal trends.

She stopped in at a small non-denominational church near the precinct and would sit there quietly for a few moments almost every day. She accepted that Donnelly would be with her always, that she would think of him in some way every day for the rest of her life.

When _Police Matters_, a quarterly newsletter that provided updates on law enforcement activities in the New York area, noted Donnelly's passing, including a nice overview of his accomplishments with the Bureau, she sent a copy to Stella O'Connor.

She fell into bed every night, the exhaustion so encompassing, so complete, that she wasn't surprised to wake up in the exact same position as when she closed her eyes, her mind and body so tired that she sank into oblivion with no dreams, no musings, no thoughts.

She had done everything she could think of, but the yearnings, the desires, the _need_ was still there.

XXX

It was perfectly natural, of course, a function of biology, Joss knew.

Every creature has the call, the need to reproduce. They scheme, strategize, fight and in some cases, die, to pass their genes on.

When you've come close to dying, that need is amplified, an urge to let the world know that you were here, that you existed.

Joss had seen it with her fellow soldiers after a particularly harrowing incident. She knew that he – come _on_, Jocelyn, she told herself, you _can_ say his name, she thought – _John_, had experienced those feelings in Bosnia. He was so young back then – he'd probably never even thought seriously about having a child at that point in his life - but the urge to spread his seed must have been overwhelming.

It was understandable, normal if you thought about it, something that passes over time.

But it hadn't with her.

Joss was still getting those looks from men and it seemed as though the harder she tried to ignore them, the more they tried to engage her.

And after she almost returned to the coffee shop…

She was afraid that she might look back.

XXX

Firefighter Rafael Alvarez waved to Joss Carter from his porch. His nickname for her was Doe Eyes – that was all he saw the first time they met when she was a new detective assigned to an arson – murder case, those big dark brown eyes that seemed to encompass her face.

He was skeptical about her at first – a detective _and_ a lawyer? – he'd bet that she was one of those upwardly mobile types, more focused on racking up promotions and degrees rather than actually doing the work. But she proved herself by not only being driven to solve the case, but also to find justice for the victim – she was one of the rare people who understood that they are often not the same.

Over time they became friends, catching up with each other every month or so. She considered him a mentor, asking for his advice and counsel on numerous cases, not just arson related ones.

He wondered what she wanted to talk to him about today as he watched her walk up the sidewalk – she hadn't mentioned a case and when he saw her last a few months ago, she seemed fine.

She was thinner than the last time he saw her, probably still doing that running crap – he'd told her more than once, all you're doing is running yourself to death – and she looked tired, not the tired when you don't get enough sleep, but the tired when you think the answer is somewhere out there if you just worked a little bit harder, even though you were already putting in twenty hour days.

You're smarter than that, he thought. It's not always about working harder – sometimes you have to step back, let the case speak for itself. Often you got to get out of your own way – own up to whatever's inside _you_, that keeps the answer just out of your grasp.

"Bribery's considered a crime, Doe Eyes," he growled, looking at the bag of doughnuts in her hand.

"Any judge who takes one whiff of that _cigar_, Rafi, will throw the case out of court. I'm performing a public service – for me and your neighbors." Her head tilted towards the adjoining porch.

"How do you think I keep them away?" he retorted, stubbing it out. "Come on in. Let's get rid of the evidence before anybody catches on."

They sat in his kitchen, sipping coffee and polishing off the sugary treats, sharing departmental news, catching up with each other. Finally Alvarez pushed his plate away. "What's up?"

She looked nervous, uncertain, but then as he knew she would, she sat up a little taller and looked into his eyes. "I need to ask you about the Pratt case. What happened afterwards."

Alvarez leaned back in his chair, studied her for a moment. "I heard things got rough for you out at Rikers."

She didn't reply.

"Ok." Alvarez nodded. Most of what he was going to tell her was common knowledge within the NYPD and FDNY, but he sensed she needed to hear the whole story.

The Pratt case happened several years ago. Alvarez was driving home from work when he had car trouble. As he raised the hood on his car in the dark, Alvarez saw a flash in the house on the corner - he knew the house was on fire.

Calling the fire in, he ran to the house, managed to get inside and somehow make his way upstairs in the swirling smoke and flames, getting the mother and the three children out. When he returned to the house to get the father out, who had fallen asleep in the den, he fell through the floor.

"They tell me that I stumbled out on the lawn and collapsed. I don't remember that, don't remember how I even got out of that house. All I remember was thinking that I was going to die and I think I did, for a few moments."

Alvarez was lauded as a hero, featured in all the media outlets, feted by the mayor and other dignitaries. On the surface he seemed fine, quietly accepting the accolades, attending the funeral for Mr. Pratt who didn't survive, returning to work as though everything was normal.

Behind the scenes he was drinking himself to sleep every night and screwing anything that walked. The drinking stopped, but the screwing didn't and after six months his wife, Kat, left him.

He came to his senses, but it was too late, his marriage was over.

"I think Kat might have stayed with me, treated it as some mid-life crisis that would blow over if it wasn't for Nikki."

Nikki was the sister of a police officer, fifteen years younger than Alvarez and his wife; she made no bones about her designs on him, showed up at the house and told his wife in excruciating detail everything he had done with her.

"I rubbed her face in it – everybody knew, in both departments. Kat had to leave." He sipped his coffee. "I know some of what happened was the result of almost dying – what better way to prove that you're still alive, but you know that already."

He knew that Joss had done her research. People reacted in a variety of ways to near death experiences – it was the rare person who wasn't affected in some way. Some became more spiritual, while others lost their faith. Some cherished the life they had, while others chucked it all – spouse, job, home swept away as they built new lives from scratch. Some became addicted to almost dying, seeking bigger and bigger thrills to approximate the feeling, while others sought total safety, trying to cocoon themselves away from everything and often from everybody. Heavy drinking, wild sex, crazy outbursts were all part of the package.

"Some was guilt over not being able to save Mr. Pratt, even though the fire started in that back room and he was dead before I got there. Some of it was that Kat and I had been together since high school and I know I ain't no prom king. Suddenly all these women wanted me and God help me, I wanted them, even though I knew that the only reason they did was because I was a 'hero'."

"I didn't want to admit that Kat and I had been drifting for a while before the fire, that if we had just talked to each other – _no_, if _I_ had talked to her – things might have turned out differently. I probably would have still screwed up, but maybe not fucked up, if you know what I mean."

He refilled their cups, passed Joss the cream. "You were out of the picture at the time, if I remember."

"I was undercover." Due to her background as an attorney, Joss had spent six months working undercover at a legal firm suspected of witness tampering on a grand scale in New Jersey. Alvarez recalled that the success of that case and her other work was one of things that led her to getting on the Homicide Task Force.

"Good thing you were – I might have made a pass at you and you probably would have knocked me into next week." He chuckled. "Might have helped."

Alvarez gave her the look, a slow, searing gaze, the look that he got when he sussed out something everybody else missed, that critical clue that made him so good at what he did. He knew that whatever was bothering her, it was more than what was rumored to have happened out at Rikers and the death of the FBI agent she had worked with.

"You're not drinking, I can see that. So some screwing around."

Joss bit her lip. "I-I just don't do stuff like that, Rafi."

Alvarez leaned forward. "You got out of control a little. Whatever you did, it's no big deal and nobody knows about it. Believe me, I would have heard. There are a few folks out there who think you've got a stick up your ass and they'd love to find out that the great Joss Carter isn't as perfect as she appears."

She didn't reply.

He sipped his coffee. "I heard you're seeing a Narcotics detective." He smiled at her surprised look. "There are no secrets, you know that."

Joss nodded. "Yeah." He saw there wasn't a spark in her eyes, something to let him know that this guy mattered to her when she answered.

"He know you're just markin' time with him? Nothing wrong with that if that's what you both want." He picked up their plates and put them in the sink. "Did I tell you wanted you needed to hear?"

"Thank you."

She stood up and Alvarez touched her arm. "Look, I'm not going to ask you what's really going on. Just – don't screw somebody else over because you can't be honest with yourself."

Her voice was a whisper. "I think it might be too late for that, Rafi."

"Doe Eyes…" he wanted to hug her, but he knew she didn't want to be comforted. "I'm around, ok?"

She nodded. "Well, I know you've got to go."

He grinned. "My granddaughter Kellie has a recital today. Got a whole caravan going."

"Do you and Kat…"

"We talk. She's got a nice guy. I still love her, if that's what you're asking."

"But the last time I saw you…"

"Me and Nikki…she invested so much time in trying to catch me, she can't admit the whole thing's a mistake."

"Does she know?"

"Yeah, a few years ago at Thanksgiving – Jesus, in-laws, outlaws, partners, significant others, exes, 'friends' – you needed a scorecard to figure out who was with who. I got a little sauced and she saw the way I looked at Kat. Asked me flat out and I told her. But she still comes around and I still sleep with her." His smile was without any mirth. "Never said I was good at following my own advice."

Alvarez walked her walk away. Joss Carter was an intensely private person. For her to even hint at something going on inside her, meant it was big, overwhelming. She was smart and she was strong, he knew that. She survived the loss of husband, war. But even someone as smart and strong as she was, could only take so much.

It wouldn't break her – she'd survive, but he sensed that she'd be different.

Doe Eyes, he thought, as he put on his jacket to spend the rest of the day with the woman he loved, but could never have again, don't get screwed up like the rest of us – fight, kick, scratch, scream - do whatever it takes to be happy.

But he knew she wouldn't.

Next, Reese finds the extraordinary in the ordinary and we spend a little time with (yes, we have to) Detective Beecher.


	10. Chapter 10

Near Death Experience – Chapter 10

A/N: Reese finds the extraordinary in the ordinary. This chapter is primarily from Reese's POV, but we open with Lionel Fusco – in this chapter he refers to Reese by a variety of nicknames, including BOME – bane of my existence.

Lionel Fusco knew it was like a beef with his ex-wife:

He knew it wasn't a question of if, only when.

He knew it would be wild and untamed, a true force of nature.

And he knew that even if he kept his knees soft, ready to duck, a punch would come out of nowhere and knock him down.

Carter and Wonderboy.

Yeah, Fusco had seen it coming forever, even when Carter was chasing him.

Carter got him shot and Reese shrugged it off; Lionel's ex once threw a ham at him during Easter brunch at a Hometown Buffet and he had her arrested.

Then once Carter started working with him, it was like she was the star pupil – she got to call Reese by his first name, she got the good assignments, she got the thanks.

Carter got to go on a trip with him; Lionel got the dog.

Even if he hadn't known already, Fusco would have realized it when he met Reese and Carter one evening at their spot.

He was aware that they got together on a regular basis so when they asked him to join them, Fusco quickly accepted.

He should have known better.

It was out in East Nowhere, parking was a bitch and he had to walk a mile to get there. The place was like the two of them - thin and pretty. Lionel tried to brush off the mustard stain on his tie as he walked up – yeah, he'd fit in real well here.

Then he heard laughter.

Fusco looked around, wondering where the sound was coming from. It was male and Reese and Carter were the only two people there.

Reese. Laughing.

Lionel didn't think he _could_ laugh. Mr. Happy barely moved his lips to _talk. _

Wasn't there some rule against it, some violation in the BOME manual? A black van should pull up any minute now and ten muscle men would wrestle Reese to the ground and take him away to some secret lab funded by Glasses, where a bunch of eggheads would replace his malfunctioning chips.

Carter made Stoneface laugh more than once that evening and even though they invited him again and Lionel went once more, just to be polite, he knew they really didn't miss him. Even a total stranger could see that there was something between them, everybody could.

It was just those two geniuses who didn't know it yet, or if they did know, for some reason, they kept holding back.

After Wonderboy almost got his ass blown sky high by some crazy chick he used to work with, Fusco couldn't see how they could stay away from each other any longer, so he wasn't surprised when he spotted Reese across the street as he and Carter were heading toward her cruiser.

Carter could be a pain in the ass, and Reese could be an asshole, but there were days when they made Lionel feel that he could be a better cop and more importantly, a better man.

He smiled to himself - everyone deserved the chance to be happy, even BOME and 'my first name is Detective' Carter.

Besides, if they waited any longer, Fusco expected Reese to walk into the precinct, throw Carter over his shoulder and disappear with her for a month.

That would have been a little hard to explain to the brass.

Lionel nodded at Reese, then touched Carter's arm, jerking his chin forward. "Go. I'll cover for ya."

She turned around, saw Reese, then turned back with a hint of a smile, handing him her keys. "Thank you, Lionel."

He watched the two of them walk away.

Fusco warned himself to keep his knees soft, but when the punch came, he knew somebody was going to get decked. Hopefully it wouldn't be him.

XXX

Joss cocked an eyebrow at him, her voice low and scratchy. "Shouldn't you be strapped down somewhere, getting fluids pumped into you, John?"

He cocked one back. "You offering to pump me, Detective?"

She gave him the look. "Maybe…if it's with something lethal."

They smirked at each other as they walked along.

Reese's voice softened. "I think I got more sleep than you did, Carter."

He knew that Joss and Fusco had probably spent hours at the blast site and they were already heading out on an early morning call when he arrived.

"Stay out of trouble for a few days, and I might get some sleep, too," she retorted, but her voice was soft as well.

Reese saw that Joss seemed to be favoring her left side, but when she saw him looking at her waist, she snapped, "It's _nothing_, John," and he let it go, not wanting to get into an argument with her.

There was a historical society not far from the precinct that had a little private garden for its members. Reese and Joss had met there several times before to exchange information and for once, Joss didn't comment when Reese swiftly picked the lock and ushered her inside.

They sat down on a covered bench, sheltered from the wind, but warmed by the early morning sun.

She looked away a moment and then when she turned back, her eyes were soft, like they were last night. "You're okay?"

Reese nodded, smiled. "You, Carter?"

Joss nodded, smiled back. "Yeah."

They sat there for a while, not speaking, pretending to look out at the empty garden, but Reese would steal glances at Joss when he thought she wouldn't notice and he saw that she was doing the same to him. It was so quiet that Reese could hear his heart beating. He tilted his head at her and took a half breath, preparing to take her hand, when he saw it.

Marks on her neck, just visible above the edge of her collar.

Joss had on a red turtleneck sweater and her hair was down, but Reese could make out a ring of faint markings marring her bright skin.

So swiftly that she wasn't able to react, Reese yanked her collar forward.

Someone had tried to choke her to death. The marks were faint now, but Reese knew that soon they would be black and blue.

Hess. It had to have happened when she broke him. You could hear him screaming and raging at her as they took him away.

Joss didn't protest or try to move away and Reese knew how painful it was.

"It's noth- I'm okay, John."

He jumped up, shaking his head. "_Fuck_!" Pacing, Reese knew he had to get control of himself, but all he could think about was Hess' hands around Joss' throat, choking the life out of her.

"John…"

He whirled to look at her. "He tried to _kill_ you, Joss!" Her eyes flickered, and Reese knew that she'd seen the killer in him, knew that he wanted to kill Hess.

Joss stood up, trying to meet his eyes, but Reese looked away. "John, listen to me. He'll never see the light of day again. Turns out he worked for a bunch of terrorist organizations – this was just a side job for him. All three of them – Kelly, McAvoy and Hess – killed for money, but Hess was the worst."

He wanted to touch her, but when he raised his arm, his hand was shaking.

Joss grabbed his hand. "John, look at me." Reese turned his face to hers, looking but not seeing her, not seeing anything.

"John." Her small hand was squeezing his so tightly, he could feel the tension radiating from her whole body, as if she was afraid that if she let go, he'd leave. "Look at me."

"John," Joss whispered, and Reese finally saw her face, saw that she wasn't shying away, even after everything else that had happened, even after this, even when she saw what he still, truly was inside. "I'm _O.K._"

His voice was wondering, bewildered. "How…How _can_ you, Joss?"

Her voice was clear and strong. "You're my _friend_, John. You're…my friend."

She drew him back over to the bench, still holding his hand tightly.

XXX

"I have to get back," Joss finally said.

He knew that she had to meet Fusco at a crime scene and then would be spending the remainder of a very long day being debriefed by a coterie of NYPD, FBI and Corrections Department staffers on the events at Rikers.

Reese tilted his head at her. "Would you…like to spend the day with me? We could –" he shrugged slightly, "- go for a walk and…you could see where I live, have lunch."

Their eyes met, held.

Joss nodded slowly. "I'd like that."

They decided on the day after tomorrow. Reese gave her an address.

Joss raised an eyebrow as she keyed it into her handheld. "No password or access number? Don't you at least have a code name I have to ask for to get past security?" She grinned, "Or are we going to spend the day in your mother's basement on a lumpy old futon playing video games?"

Reese grinned back. "You don't get out much, do you? No basement or code words, but if it makes you feel any better, I do have a tree house."

"In your apartment? _Really_?"

"You'll just have to wait and see, Detective."

As they both stood, the breeze lifted Joss' hair. Her red collar was still askew from his yanking it earlier. Reese drew his hand gently across the material, smoothing it down. His hand then ran up the side of her jaw, as he pushed a lock of her hair back, then continued along her cheek as he cupped her face.

Joss slowly covered his hand with her own. Dizzy, his body trembling with hope, fear and desire, Reese took a stumbling half step back, but Joss slid her hand down his arm and she steadied him, lifting her face towards his. Her dark eyes glowed with a shy, quiet joy.

Reese leaned forward and gently touched his lips to hers, her mouth soft and warm despite the cold. She stepped into his embrace, the kiss deepening as they wrapped their arms around each other, their bodies fitting together perfectly as though they had always known what their hearts had ignored for a very long time.

It was like everything in the dream and more, the smell of jasmine and baby oil, the softness of her body against his, the feel of her hair swirling around his face, the sound of her breathing and the sweet tenderness of her lips, richer and fuller than he ever could have imagined.

They didn't speak when they parted, there were no lingering gazes, no hands reluctantly drifting apart, no looking back as they walked away, just the calm certainty that soon, Reese knew, they would be together.

XXX

The private market offered the best food in the city. Flouting health trends and environmental concerns, the meats were thickly marbled, the seafood flown in daily and the fruit and vegetables inspected ruthlessly and discarded for the minutest flaws.

The vendors were well aware of who could afford to buy their goods, so when a tall dark haired stranger entered the market, a buzz quickly spread through the stalls.

He was handsome and well dressed and though his voice was soft and his manner was self-deprecating, it was clear that he knew what he wanted. This one could not be charmed or fooled and soon the vendors were falling all over themselves offering their finest wares, the items they saved for their best customers.

As he sampled and tasted and made his selections, they tried to find out what the occasion was, and though he refused to say, the light in his eyes and his soft smile told them that it was for someone very special, and they sighed as he left, speculating on who that special person could be and wondering if they knew how lucky they were.

XXX

After his first year partnering with Kara, the Agency sent them to a cooking class for six intense weeks in Paris, where they were screamed at and insulted for eighteen hours a day. Reese often reflected that the experience was almost as brutal as boot camp – he definitely bled just as much as he cut, sliced, nipped and pinched his fingers more times than he could count, sweat streamed in his eyes as he toiled in an non air conditioned kitchen as if he were on a fifty mile hike and his muscles were as wrenched and strained lifting boiling hot pans as they were hoisting the burliest platoon member across an obstacle course.

It was all part of perfecting a persona that he and Kara used numerous times during their years together - a husband and wife cooking and catering team. Often they would have free range of entire complexes, including access cards and security codes, could bring in whatever tools or weapons they needed under mountains of foodstuffs and had plenty of time to leisurely observe their target as they prepared what would often be their last meal.

Reese enjoyed the planning and precision of it, the clear goals, the learning of specific skills necessary for success and the freedom to improvise as he improved.

He was particularly good at baking, understanding how the slightest mistake could spell the difference between something sublime and a leaden disaster, while Kara excelled at making thick, rich sauces, sometimes dipping her finger in one of her creations and offering him a taste.

Food was one of the few things that they genuinely bonded over, so it perhaps it was fitting that their last meal together was one where he declined to eat anything.

Though Reese would never admit it to anyone, he often watched cooking shows as he cleaned and maintained the weapons in his closet.

After he made the arrangements to have his selections from the market delivered to the loft, Reese went to a high end home accessories store.

There he purchased plump accent pillows and thick, nubby throws, in the rich deep colors of marine blue, aubergine and forest green. He bought vases and candles and lightly scented hand soap and lotion, a larger rug for the bathroom floor and an exquisite covered wooden bowl that someone could place their watch and jewelry in, all the those little things that a woman looks for and would enjoy.

He ran his hand over decadently soft sheets, sharing a lopsided grin with the clerk, who knew exactly what he was thinking about. Not yet, Reese thought, not yet, as he brought the rest of his purchases to the register.

By the time he returned home, unpacked and put away all of his purchases, it was mid-afternoon and Reese realized he was tired. The big bed beckoned to him and after staring at it longingly for several minutes, Reese kicked off his shoes and stretched out on the cool linens.

For the first time since he could remember, John Reese closed his eyes and took a nap. As he was drifting off, he smiled, thinking he was cheating on Bear, who in his mode as a service animal had accompanied Finch to Rikers today for his friend's regularly scheduled chess match with Elias. Sorry, buddy, he thought, another time.

"_You trying to make salad or juice, Detective," Reese smirked as Joss, her forehead crinkled in concentration, methodically chopped vegetables for the salad. Her mangled efforts formed a sad little pile on the kitchen island._

_Reese had just taken the entrée out of one of the double ovens and checked the timer for the bread baking in the other. _

_She put her left hand on her hip. "If you're so good at this, why don't you show me?"_

"_I may need to invade your personal space, Joss."_

_Joss snorted. "_Now_ he respects boundaries." Sighing loudly, she rolled her eyes, "Invade away."_

_Snow was falling, blocking out the sight of the other buildings and there was a hush over the usual noise of the city. It was as if they were the only two people in the world. _

_Reese stepped behind her, sliding his left arm around her waist, his hand flat against her stomach. _

_He whispered in her ear, "You have to stand properly first." Reese slowly pressed her torso back so that it was in alignment with her hips. "Spread your legs a little, there –" his knee nudged her legs a little further apart "- so you have the right balance." _

_His right hand slid down her right arm, engulfing her small hand. "Next, make the knife an extension of your body." He showed her how to properly hold the knife, gently positioning her fingers. _

_As she tried to make the first cut, he could feel how tense she was, how focused she was on trying to do everything just so. _

"_Think about what you're creating, not what you're cutting, Joss."_

_Her voice was now as soft as his. "What are we creating, John?"_

"_The memory of a good day."_

_She shook her head. "No…the memory of a good day, with a good friend."_

_Reese couldn't see her face, but he knew she was smiling and he could feel her body align with his._

_They began working in tandem. Reese would show her a technique, Joss would copy him and despite a few curse words and a close shave when she overenthusiastically julienned a carrot, Joss was good, as he knew she would be. _

_Having her so close to him, relaxed, laughing, not shying away when their bodies bumped together was intoxicating - Reese was already missing her, not wanting her to leave, wanting her to spend the night, wanting to wake up next to her. He had to keep reminding himself that this was just the first of many days together, that there would be more meals, more times like this._

_Her hair kept spilling over her shoulder and Joss huffed as she flipped it back. "Do you have anything that I can use to pull my hair out of the way, maybe a binder clip or something?"_

"_I have something better, Detective." Reese stepped away and Joss turned to watch him walk over to his desk. He retrieved the red hair elastic, watching her eyes first registering surprise and then a recollection of that day with the little girl as he returned to the kitchen. _

_At first Joss reached out to take it from him, but then she suddenly turned around. Reese ran his hands through her thick dark tresses, gathering them together and pulling her hair into a high ponytail, his fingers nimbly twisting the elastic into place. He pressed his face against the nape of her neck, inhaling her warm scent and then he enveloped her in his arms._

_Joss turned around, facing him and as they gazed at each other, he told her without saying a word, that it was that day - her fierceness, her determination, her strength of purpose, her compassion and her tenderness when everything changed. _

_It was her somehow being able to help him lift that grate, it was her dropping down fearlessly into that dank foul tunnel, it was her putting her arms around the little girl, it was her soft voice singing, it was her never giving up, even when she was exhausted, even when it seemed hopeless, even when she screamed at one point in frustration. _

_It was then, even though it was months ago, even though he didn't realize it, even though he didn't have an inkling of it, that his feelings had changed from friendship to something much deeper. _

_And it was in that stark interrogation room, when everything else had been stripped away, when it was just two people talking, that it finally came to the surface. _

_Joss pulled his face to hers and if the kiss in the garden had been tender and chaste, this was not. This was arms and hands and fingers, lips and tongues and chests and hips and thighs all straining to be closer, ever closer together. _

_The oven timer went off and they broke apart, laughing. _

"_Food first?" he asked, running his finger along her temple._

"_Food first. Then dessert," she smiled, "later."_

XXX

After a couple of hours Reese rose, changed into a t-shirt and jeans, went into the kitchen and began to cook, the smells of rich creamy sauces and light delicate desserts filling the air.

He prepared entrees and side dishes, appetizers and desserts, breads and pastries, including several items for Joss to take home, imagining her smile as she served her son dinner that evening, her sigh of pleasure as she bit into a flaky croissant the next morning and her mouth watering as she heated up a thick hearty soup in the precinct microwave after a late morning meeting that ran way too long.

He worked through the evening and well into the night, and then finally satisfied with his efforts, the refrigerator full, the larder stocked and the kitchen clean, he showered and fell into bed, his sleep peaceful and dreamless.

XXX

Reese had spent so many years, in so many places he'd left at a moment's notice without ever thinking of them again, that he was struck by the rush of emotions he felt as he entered the library.

Everything looked new and exotic to him – the books strewn across the floor, the gracefully curving staircase, the spider webs weaving delicate patterns along the bannisters, the chips in the marble tiles revealing dark rich veins of color.

Reese silently mounted the stairs, anxious to see Finch and Bear, absurdly wondering if they'd changed, even though it had been only a few days since he'd seen them last, wondering if they'd had the same thoughts about him.

As Reese turned to enter the HQ space, he heard Bear's bark and before he could react he was tackled to the floor by a squirming, drooling missile of muscle as Bear expressed the relief, camaraderie and giddiness that they all felt inside.

XXX

"Finch, unless there's an emergency, I'm going to take tomorrow off to spend the day with…Joss." Reese was aware that this was the first time he had used her first name in a conversation with his friend.

Finch nodded slowly. "I can imagine that you both have a great deal to talk about – recent events and…several other topics as well, Mr. Reese. Good luck."

Reese smiled. "With the number you just gave me or spending time with Detective Carter?"

"With all things, Mr. Reese, all things. Oh, before you leave, you'll be getting an alert when the detective's coat is ready. It should be done sometime this evening."

"How did you get that taken care of so quickly, Finch?"

"It's amazing what you can do with vast sums of money, John. Also," Reese could have sworn Harold's cheeks were turning red, "Detective Carter, like many modern women, does much of her clothes shopping online, so her measurements were readily available."

Reese raised an eyebrow.

Harold smiled softly, "You'll have to get that information on your own."

XXX

When Reese returned that evening from resolving the number, he noticed that Kara's photo was still up. While they didn't have an official procedure regarding the opening and closing of a case, Finch would put up the photo when he had a new number and take it down when the situation was resolved.

Reese understood why Harold left Kara's photo up – he would be the one to remove it.

As he took her photo down he saw the blueprints from the jail in the wastepaper basket.

"What was this, Finch, Plan B?"

Finch's eyes flicked towards him, then returned to his many screens. "No, actually that was my Plan A, Mr. Reese, but as you're aware, Detective Carter's plan was much more effective."

"So what were you, lookout or getaway driver?"

"Actually, neither. Detective Fusco and I were otherwise engaged. Detective Carter executed everything on her own; I did provide some assistance, but it was minimal." Finch turned from his screens to look at Reese. "She's…,"

For once, Harold seemed lost for words.

"Extraordinary." Reese's voice was even softer and lower than normal, barely a whisper. "She's extraordinary, Harold."

"Yes, John, she is."

XXX

Joss had chosen well. The bar was upscale, but not snooty, popular, but not trendy. Security at the door and several cameras positioned around the space discouraged any trouble, but this was not a place that expected problems. Like all nightspots there was criminal activity, but it was discreet – the call girls could be your date at your company's holiday party and the dealers sold their wares in sleek packages that looked like handheld devices and headsets.

It was the type of place where an attractive single woman would feel comfortable walking into on her own.

The men who frequented this establishment expected fine things and fine women. As Reese scanned the crowd, he saw many beautiful women, but he knew that Joss would have stood out, not just for her beauty, but also for her warrior spirit.

Most of the men would be intimidated, but the smart ones, the ones who recognized how rare she was, would flock around her.

Feeds from the cameras were collected in a small closet in the back of the building. Cramped, with barely enough room to turn around, no space for a chair and the shelves covered with dust, it was clear that the room was accessed infrequently, which meant Reese would have as much time as he needed. A schedule taped to the back of the door indicated a seven day recording cycle, but judging by the number of discs strewn around, that schedule was haphazard at best.

He selected the first DVD and loaded it into the laptop mounted on an upper shelf, fast forwarding through several discs until he saw Joss' image.

Reese had been able to back track Joss' movements via GPS and realized this was the only place where she could have gotten the DNA sample. He wanted to make sure that any evidence of her being in the bar was removed.

He had already gone to all the other locations already, noting that the ass covering was in full swing, including the dismantling of the twenty first floor of 780 Mercer, judging by the tractor trailers lining the block.

The diner where he and Snow had assaulted the two ATF agents didn't have cameras in their parking lot and due to a contract dispute between the city and the company that developed the park where Donnelly captured them, while there were surveillance cameras there, the remote monitoring software to operate them hadn't been installed yet, so they weren't operational.

The bodies of the men Kara had shot when he and Snow retrieved the hard drive hadn't been discovered yet, but it had only been a few days. Eventually the smell would lead to their discovery and the case would be quickly closed as a bad end for two bad people.

The feeds from the bar were the last piece. Once they were gone, it would be as if nothing had ever happened.

Working his way quickly through the pile, he found all the relevant discs, pocketed them and then smoothly exited the closet and the bar.

XXX

It was stunning, absolutely stunning.

"I hope this meets with your approval."

The coat was even more beautiful than he ever could have imagined. Light, yet incredibly warm, simple, yet intricately tailored, it was a coat that would get double and triple takes, a coat that would make you want to follow the person wearing it, not because the coat was incredible, but because the coat made you look at the person who was wearing it and you realized that they were incredible.

Reese smiled. "It's beautiful."

The tailor nodded. "We had hoped to get it to you earlier this evening, but there were still a few details to complete." He showed Reese the inside pockets, the hidden buttons at the end of the sleeves, the tiny weights that would ensure that the garment would always hang properly, those and so many more, all exquisitely done.

It was perfect.

"Mr. Partridge said this was for a good friend. For her birthday, or some other occasion?" the tailor asked as he put the coat into a black garment bag.

"No occasion."

The tailor nodded. "The best kind of gift, when it is neither asked for, or expected."

Reese insisted on paying for it, even though the tailor said that it had already been taken care of, and he left the atelier with a simple white box under his arm.

He had already decided to leave the coat at her apartment early tomorrow morning while she was on her way to meet him, planning to use a variety of shortcuts to get to the rendezvous point in plenty of time.

He wanted her to be surprised.

He wanted her to go home after spending the day with him and see the box on her bed.

He wanted her to hold the coat up, to place her face against its softness. He wanted her to wrap herself in it, to turn side to side as she stood in front of the mirror. He wanted her to laugh with delight as she discovered all the special touches. He wanted her to call him while she was wearing it.

He wanted a reason for her to want to see him again.

He wanted her to suggest meeting him so that he could see her in it.

He wanted to see her walking towards him in a light snowfall.

Red coat, black hair, white snow, all highlighting her incredible skin, her shining eyes, her lips curving in a soft smile.

XXX

Reese sipped a beer as he settled down to watch the DVDs in his apartment. His reasons were watching the feeds were purely selfish, though he planned on having pointed conversations with both Finch and Fusco about not providing backup for Joss, even though he knew there was little to nothing that they could have done.

No, the possessive male part of him wanted to watch the DVDs.

He wanted to see what she would wear to attract a man.

He wanted to see what men were attracted to her.

He wanted to see what man she chose.

The bar had five cameras – one at the entrance and four in the bar itself, mounted on each wall. It was the typical shitty surveillance feed. The resolution was terrible, there was no sound and the camera angles only gave you the top half of patrons' bodies, but Reese knew they weren't expecting ankle holsters or shoe bombs. Nobody in their right mind would spend a minute watching this – until Joss walked in.

She was mesmerizing.

Parting that crowd like a hot knife cutting through butter, every man had his eyes on her, and Reese knew that a wave of cocks were twitching as she passed by. Her sleek dress showed off her toned arms, full breasts and tiny waist. Her hair swung flirtatiously, her eyes were deep dark pools and her lips were smooth and inviting. She sat at the bar like she owned it, and that night she did.

Reese saw how she picked her target, but didn't approach him, her smile soft and open. Reese watched how the target watched her, watched how he decided to approach her, watched how he bought her a drink. Reese watched how she made his eyes light up, watched how she made him laugh, watched how she made him think that their meeting here tonight was special.

They looked good together, sleek and elegant and beautiful.

Reese wondered if the situation was reversed, if that man was the one in jail and he was the one at the bar, would he have approached her? He knew he would have noticed her right away, knew he would have wanted her, but would he have approached her? When she smiled, would he have taken the next step?

Reese had to give the guy credit – he didn't have to almost die first.

He didn't have to almost get her killed.

He watched as she slipped a sedative in the target's glass.

And Reese watched how when they left together, every man in the bar thought that guy was the luckiest bastard on earth.

He reloaded the first DVD.

XXX

He almost made it out the door when it hit him.

Reese had been in Joss' apartment twice before, when Finch was taken. The first time he had felt cast adrift, utterly rudderless – Finch was missing, Alicia Corwin was dead and Caroline Turling, AKA Root, had been revealed to be more cunning and diabolical than they ever could have imagined.

Even then, there was something about Joss' apartment that had kept a small part of him calm and able to think when the rest of him was panicking and wanted to lash out blindly.

When he went back the second time, Bear felt it too and quietly settled on the couch instead sniffing and wandering about the rooms as Reese expected.

It was because Joss's apartment was ordinary.

Completely ordinary.

There was nothing to indicate that she was anything other than a single working woman with a teenage son.

No medals, no awards, no citations, no photos of far off lands.

Sneakers in a basket by the door, mail stacked on a tray, a small whiteboard with appointments and a parent-teacher conference noted on it. A cup and spoon in a dish rack, a forgotten pair of men's gloves draped over an armrest, a Post It note marking a place in a novel selected for next month's book club meeting.

Not a crumbling old building.

Not a beautiful, yet sterile apartment.

Not a place where the inhabitants were two broken men and a Neo-Nazi's dog.

No, this place was ordinary, completely and utterly ordinary, and that was where its true power lay.

A place where people laughed, loved, argued, cried.

A place where people lived, rather than just existed.

A place where by hard work, determination and sheer force of will, a home had been created, despite everything she had experienced, despite everything she'd seen and was seeing, in war and in the city.

A place that was extraordinary, because it was so ordinary.

Sometimes the people they helped would ascribe superhero powers to himself and Finch, dazzled by his physical prowess and his friend's technical wizardry.

But the real superhero lived here and she was stronger and braver than them all put together.

Joss had given it all and what had he really given in return?

Reese closed his eyes as he realized how selfish he had been. From the very beginning, he had always wanted more from Joss than he had given back. He wanted her awareness, her knowledge, her intelligence, her counsel, her partnership, her friendship, her trust.

And what had he given her in return? A dangerous thankless sideline activity couched in smirks and smug replies.

Joss would say that it was her choice, but how could she resist the chance to balance the ledger against the carnage she saw every day – and he knew it.

She had only asked for one thing – where he and Finch got their information from – and he couldn't even give her that.

The white box on her bed now seemed like a mocking reminder of that denial.

And even after everything he had done, after he'd almost lost her everything, he still wanted more.

Now he wanted her heart.

Joss had already paid a terrible price for being his friend; what would she pay if things went any further between the two of them?

Donnelly was right. He had made his choice. And Joss had made hers.

Jocelyn Carter was an extraordinary person. But the most extraordinary thing about her was that she had been able to craft an ordinary life.

How could he even think about being with her?

He wouldn't.

XXX

Bear had found it first.

Reese was always amazed at how people accept things at face value – he and Kara were able to walk into corporations, embassies and private homes, because people assumed that they were a couple and therefore safe.

With Bear, the same rule applied. Reese could wander around anywhere in the city, at all hours of the night with a dog, and people would assume that he was just some poor schlub, taking the pooch out for a dump. Most of the time they didn't even notice him, they were so focused on greeting and petting Bear.

Reese often amused himself by imagining what garb he could wear – Elvis jumpsuit, sequined ball gown, buck naked – that would attract attention, but he knew that in New York, they'd seen it already. They'd take a quick glance and then go back to more pressing matters, like scratching Bear behind the ears.

One night he let Bear determine their path, so when the dog gave a soft bark and pulled him towards a narrow lane, Reese assumed it was another dumpster or an interesting pile of garbage bags, but instead it was a bookstore, called Cat and Mouse.

Bookstore was too simple a word for it – Cat and Mouse was what would have been referred to in the past as an emporium, a place full of things you didn't know you desperately wanted until you walked through the door.

As its name implied, its main focus was on mysteries, but they also had significant sections devoted to game theory, military strategy and espionage. Games, puzzles, toys, rooms set aside for chess club meetings and battlefield diorama competitions, a coffee shop and a bakery, they commanded one whole side of this narrow, cobblestoned street. By diversifying, they had managed to escape the fate of so many private booksellers done in by the chains and online behemoths.

Reese also knew that they sold some illegal items as well, especially in the area of surveillance, but who wasn't spying on one another these days?

But of course, Bear wasn't interested in the store because of that. Bear was interested in its full time occupants, Cat and Mouse.

Cat was a Macaw parrot and Mouse was Mouse the Third, a cat. Bear had noticed Mouse's glittering eyes in the darkness and wanted to investigate. A LCD screen in the large display window that was his home, noted Cat's previous feline companions over the past forty years.

Like many young men in love for the first time, Bear fell hard and fast for Mouse. She would exit Cat's lair thru a small door that only opened and closed via a signal from her collar and meet him at one of the building's entrances.

Mouse would stare intensely at Bear for long moments and playfully bat her paws at him against the glass. She would mimic his moves, tilting her head in unison with his, answer his soft bark with a silent meow of her own, sometimes even swish her tail in the same slow sweeping motion as his.

In those moments, she would appear to be as in love with Bear as he was with her, and perhaps she was.

But in the end, Mouse would return to her home with Cat. He would pull her tail in a silent rebuke, then run his beak gently along her spine. She would close her eyes and curl up beside him.

In the end, she was his and his alone.

Bear would sit there, waiting for her to walk back up to one of the doors and stare at him again, but eventually Reese would issue a command, and reluctantly Bear would turn away, but Reese knew that each time they visited the store, Bear hoped that this mystery would have a different ending.

XXX

Cat and Mouse was the address Reese had given Joss to meet him at, the first stop in his planned tour of the neighborhood. The morning rush had passed at the bakery and coffee shop and the bookstore wasn't open yet, so the street, its dark cobblestones shiny from last night's light rain, was empty.

Reese thought about the calm, rational lies he could tell Joss, all tinged with a ring of truth – he had taken advantage of her, they had to recover from everything that happened, she still had her relationship with Beecher to resolve, he had gone overboard and needed to slow down a bit –

But they all fled when he saw her.

And the words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them.

"I love you, Joss," he told her.

And then he left her, standing alone in the street, as he walked away.

XXX

Jesus.

To anybody else, Carter might have looked tired and a little out of sorts, but after working with her all these months, Fusco knew she was wrecked.

Damn, she just didn't get punched, she was pummeled.

He didn't comment when Carter showed up to work in the middle of her day off, just handed her the reports that he needed double-checked and she nodded at him gratefully.

Lionel wanted to kneecap Wonderboy himself, but he knew he had to stay out of it. Those two would either work it out or they wouldn't, but they had to do it on their own. They had to talk to each other.

When Reese called him the next morning with a request for information that he would usually ask Carter for, Fusco could hear the absolute deadness in his voice – there was no inflection, no feeling, as if those malfunctioning chips actually had been replaced.

And as the days went on, the silence between them got deeper and deeper.

Talk. Yeah. Right. Like they were going to do that, Lionel thought.

Nobody would say a word and they would act as if nothing had happened.

Until they exploded.

A/N: Next three men follow Joss, but she only follows one man. Things are starting to get messy.


	11. Chapter 11

Near Death Experience – Chapter 11

A/N: Three men follow Joss, but Joss only follows one man. This chapter is from Beecher's, John's and Joss' POV. Things are starting to get messy.

Cal Beecher knew what they called him - 18 Carat Cal – and it was true, he did have better clothes, better cars and certainly better girls than they did.

What his co-workers didn't know, but could easily find out, he thought, if they took five minutes away from their bullshitting sessions, was that he had money.

Beecher's grandfather had been a high school science teacher who had developed all sorts of gadgets in a little shed in his backyard. Forty years ago he had developed a product that for a time was in almost every car in America.

While the advent of computer run circuitry in cars had eliminated the need for his grandfather's invention, he had invested wisely - Cal's family wasn't filthy rich, but there was plenty there.

Plenty to build a good life with someone special.

And yeah, while he'd had his share, ok, than more than his share of beautiful women, Beecher was ready to settle down, find the _right_ woman. She couldn't just be anyone – she had to be smart and beautiful, someone who understood his work – Cal liked being a cop, much to his staid, buttoned down family's eternal embarrassment - someone who would be hot in bed, but also someone who you could take home to your mother.

He'd thought that woman was a dream, an impossibility, but then several months ago, he met Carter.

She had worked a multiple shooting case involving a member of the Mayor's staff – there was a narcotics connection and his unit had gotten called in. When he first saw Carter, Beecher was stunned at her beauty, but he managed to play it cool whenever he saw her, chatting with her at the coffee machine, touching base on certain cases, treating her as if she was just any other cop.

The more he found out about her, the more he was interested – a veteran, a lawyer, highly principled, dedicated - she was special and he didn't want to screw it up, slowly getting to know her.

One day she contacted him about a former case of his and he used the opportunity to pay her a favor, then he asked her out to dinner.

Carter laughed and looked away at first, then she nodded as if she was making a decision. He knew from department scuttlebutt that she wasn't the type to casually date around, so the fact that she agreed to go out with him meant something, that he had passed muster with her in some way.

She seemed a little standoffish and distracted on their dates at first, checking her phone like she was expecting a call, but Cal chalked that up to her being a good parent, another plus in his book. He had dated women who were all too eager to ignore their kids; the only time they seemed to mention their children was to complain about them – or their ex.

Once, she got a call and cut a date off right in the middle, saying there was an emergency, but then when he asked her later if her son was alright, she seemed confused, mumbled that he was ok and then changed the subject. He understood that she was a private person, not ready to share all the parts of her life, but over time, she seemed to be opening up to him, until a few weeks ago.

Carter had gotten involved in some hot case with the FBI and fallen off the map, not responding to his calls or even stopping in at her desk at the precinct. He found out that she had been at Rikers, that the FBI agent she had been working with was murdered shortly after, that there were rumors of assaults and a dead prisoner and even possibly terrorist connections.

When he did see her for a moment, Carter looked worn and tired, flinching when he touched her shoulder. She apologized, said that she had some personal stuff to take care of and he'd barely heard from her since.

So when Carter had just shown up that night at his place, he didn't know what to expect, even thought she was going to tell him it was over, but then she opened her coat and revealed her incredible body to him. He hesitated for a moment, shocked at her audacity, but then he saw the desire in her eyes and he was lost.

He had never experienced anything like it.

The way she made love to him, so passionately, so intensely, her arms and legs around him like she was holding on for dear life, the sounds when she came wrenched from her throat like a sob. She took him into her body, her mouth, her hands, giving him everything.

Jocelyn Carter was smart, she was beautiful, she was passionate, and after that night, Cal knew, she was his.

She was the one. Carter didn't do anything halfway - the time apart had given her a chance to think, and now she was all in.

Maybe they were rushing things a little, but they weren't kids. Time to meet her son and introduce her to his family.

XXX

'Next time, I'd like to see you covered in rose petals. – Cal'

The two dozen dark red roses were beautiful, the scent filling Joss' apartment. When she called to thank him, Beecher asked if she was busy, suggesting dinner that evening.

"I'd really like to see you, Carter…pick up from where we were that night, and maybe talk a little bit. This whole case…"

It was headline news across the city. A drug kingpin had been forced to move a massive shipment of heroin from one warehouse to another due to an infestation of bedbugs. While the bedbugs weren't interested in heroin, they were interested in the kingpin's staff and ultimately his customers. Panicking after receiving numerous complaints and a near miss himself when his chauffeur discovered the insects in the kingpin's Bentley, the transfer was hastily arranged.

Joss knew through departmental scuttlebutt that Beecher had received the tip from one of his snitches a few hours after she had visited his apartment. Not only was Beecher's unit able to intercept the drugs, but over a dozen other raids had been conducted across the city and the kingpin's CFO was turning state's evidence. A separate command station and clearing house had been set up in an empty industrial park outside the city, the activity so fast and furious that Cal and his colleagues were bunking there so that they could execute a raid at a moment's notice. Beecher had left her a few messages, but they hadn't seen or spoken to each other since that night.

"You don't have to explain, Beecher. And we should talk, but not tonight. Coffee, first thing tomorrow?"

They settled on a time and place.

"Yeah, sounds good…I like the idea of starting the day with you, Carter."

"Ok…and thanks again, Beecher."

XXX

Joss looked around her empty apartment.

She could have accepted Beecher's invitation, but what she needed to say to him had to be said in the clear, cool light of day.

If things were different, she thought – but they weren't. Cal Beecher was not the man for her and she'd known it, almost from the very beginning. Rafi Alvarez was right – she was just marking time with Beecher and even then, she was doing a poor job of it.

Joss was ashamed to admit that she'd barely thought of him since that night. She would tell him tomorrow that it was over. Beecher was a good man and she hoped that they would be able to part as friends.

Joss wandered the apartment's rooms, but everything was done, and even if she did find something to do, she knew it wouldn't satisfy her. Going to the movies, calling a friend, visiting her mother – no, none of that would work, but she needed to get out of this apartment. _Now_.

She thought about changing her clothes – she still had on a blouse and skirt from testifying in court this morning – but the urge to leave was overwhelming. Throwing on her coat, Joss left the apartment.

A walk, that's all, she thought – a nice long walk.

XXX

Beecher wound up meeting some of his colleagues for dinner and drinks after he spoke to Carter. He had a pleasant buzz as he left the restaurant and decided to stretch his legs a bit before heading home. A major bust, a sure promotion and now Carter. He kept thinking about what he was going to say to her tomorrow – maybe they could get together that evening. He smiled with the thought of making love to her again.

All of the sudden, he saw a flash of red. Carter. She was quite a bit ahead of him, but he'd recognize that stride anywhere. She didn't say she had plans, but perhaps she'd had dinner out tonight as well. Beecher started walking faster, waiting to get close enough to her to call out and get her attention, when a man suddenly dashed across the street and caught up with her.

He was tall and thin and looked young – maybe the son of a colleague or friend. They spoke for a few moments and then he took her hand. Even from this distance, Beecher knew this was a very different relationship than what he had assumed. Beecher quickened his steps but as he approached the crosswalk, several fire trucks, police vehicles and an ambulance raced through, halting him.

When he finally crossed the street, Carter and the young man had disappeared. Beecher kept walking, looking for them – they had to be just a little ahead of him.

XXX

"Hey, stranger," the barista smiled at her.

Joss blinked in surprise. She was so focused on keeping her feet moving that she didn't even hear his approach.

"Sorry, did I scare you?"

"No, I was just in my own world." She smiled ruefully. "Not good, especially at night."

They stared at each other for a moment. The barista was dressed casually in a sweater and jeans, with a backpack over one shoulder, as if he had just come from a class. He still looked incredibly young, but Joss could sense that something had shifted in him, that he was different from the uncomplicated man she had spent time with just a short time ago.

"Can we talk – just for a minute. Please," he asked.

Joss nodded. She owed him that.

He took her hand. They walked up the street a bit and then the barista pointed out a little courtyard. Joss nodded and they stepped into the narrow space that served as an entryway for a variety of small businesses that had closed for the evening. There were several benches that lined the courtyard, but neither Joss or the barista indicated that they wanted to sit down.

"I haven't seen you…" he said, and she noted that he didn't add, 'since that night'. "You haven't even come into the shop."

Joss nodded. She wasn't going to insult him by saying she was busy or that she meant to call him. "I did want to thank you for the flowers. They were beautiful."

He nodded. "Can we…get together again? We – we could just have dinner, or a drink, maybe even," he smiled softly, "a cup of coffee."

"I'm sorry, no." Joss squeezed his hand gently. She turned to walk away, but he held on to her.

"Did I – do something wrong? Is that why I haven't seen you?"

"No, _No_." Joss shook her head. "It was me, it was all me. I -," she paused, searching for the right words to say, words that weren't cruel or self-serving. "It was a moment, a wonderful, wonderful moment, but it won't happen again. I'm sorry."

"I can't stop thinking about you." His voice cracked. "I've _tried_ – tried all sorts of things. I just can't." He looked lost and Joss knew that she and the barista were very much alike. They both kept thinking that with enough thought, logic and hard work, you could reason out anything, even those things that make no sense, like standing in the middle of a courtyard on a winter's night with a beautiful young man who thought his heart was breaking. "If there wasn't that guy?…"

Joss raised her other hand and touched his cheek. She didn't need to answer. The barista already knew that if there wasn't another guy, she never would have spent the night with him.

Their arms slid around each other in the darkness and they held on tightly. Joss raised her face to his, and their lips met, as they kissed each other goodbye.

XXX

Beecher realized that he must have passed them, perhaps they had stopped in some place along the way, so he turned around, almost running as he retraced his steps. His brain kept trying to come up with reasonable explanations for what he saw, but he knew in his heart that he wasn't mistaken – Carter had been with this young man, perhaps _was_ with this young man now.

As he rushed along, Beecher almost passed a little courtyard, but a passing truck with bright headlights lit the interior and he saw a patch of red in the darkness.

Carter. In his arms. Kissing him.

With a roar, Beecher ran into the courtyard.

XXX

Reese was already in a foul mood when he heard barista speak to Joss.

It had been a long frustrating day. The number was an unscrupulous contractor whose shoddy work had led to ten people being seriously injured, including a young father and his little boy. The man had absolutely no remorse and while there was some justice in his being arrested and Finch draining his secret bank accounts and paying the victims' hospital bills, the damage had already been done. The victims would recover, but they would never be the same.

Fusco was chaperoning a school trip for his son, so that afternoon Reese had listened to Joss and Finch working furiously together to not only solve the case, but also to uncover evidence that would lead to the contractor's arrest, before the man skipped the country.

Hearing her conversation with Finch brought home today how much he missed her.

There were times today Reese wanted to talk to her, wanted to get her counsel. They had lost several precious hours because he had overreacted and targeted the contractor's foreman as the person who actually orchestrated the sub-standard construction. He had behaved unscrupulously as well, but not on this project.

Reese knew that if he had spoken to Joss, she would have talked him through his assumptions with her usual combination of skepticism, intelligence and humor.

Listening to Joss and Harold talk like they were old pals made Reese so angry, that he didn't return to the library that evening for his usual debrief, telling his friend in clipped tones that he would talk to him tomorrow. In his present mood, Reese knew he would say something that he would regret. He knew that Finch viewed Joss as a friend and as a colleague, but when she laughed at one of his quips and he thanked her for some insight, the self-imposed separation felt new and raw.

Of course, the hits on the John Reese Self Pity Countdown just kept on coming.

Reese listened to Joss talk to Beecher, listened to the hope in the man's voice as he asked her out to dinner. The drug bust was the top story all over town and Reese knew that Cal Beecher would use the flush of victory to spend time with Joss, make love to her again, perhaps even try to claim her permanently.

He held his breath, then sighed in relief as Joss turned Beecher down, at least for tonight.

Reese followed her as she went for a walk, watched as she made a turn as though she was going to head home and then the kid ran across the street and spoke to her.

Finch, then Beecher and now the kid.

Reese was tired, he was drunk and he knew that he was feeling dangerously sorry for himself. He needed to go home and sleep it off.

He turned and walked quickly away, wanting to put as much distance between himself and them as possible. Shut off your phone, he told himself, but he kept listening.

Reese couldn't stand seeing them together, couldn't stand that she had been with him, couldn't stand that she had thought about him, couldn't stand that she had watched him, couldn't stand that she had wanted him.

But what Reese really couldn't stand was that this kid was more honest, more brave than he was, that this kid who barely knew her, understood how special she was and had the balls to go after her.

He heard a roar and the sound of running footsteps.

Reese turned and began running back.

XXX

Beecher stormed into the courtyard, hearing a sound, which he realized was a roar of rage and anguish, spilling from his throat.

They broke apart, and to his credit, the young man tried to shield Carter, standing in front of her, holding up one hand, "Sir-"

"Get out of here – now!"

Carter stepped next to the young man. "This is between us, Beecher, not him."

"What the hell is going on, Carter!"

She turned to the young man, "It's okay, he's not going to hurt me."

The young man stared into Beecher's eyes. "I'm not leaving."

XXX

Joss knew that she had to make the barista leave, before this became more about testosterone than anything else. "I need to talk to him. I'll be okay."

"No, I'm not leaving." His eyes were still on Beecher.

"Please go. Now." She touched his arm. "If you stay, you'll make things worse."

"No."

"_Please_."

The barista looked at her, as if he wanted to say something. He nodded curtly, and walked away.

XXX

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Reese was bathed in a cold sweat as he ran. He could hear Beecher shouting at the kid, the kid trying to protect Joss, and Joss trying to calm them both down.

He was so busy being sorry for himself that he hadn't even noticed Beecher, had probably passed him.

Reese knew that under the right circumstances even the most mild mannered man can react violently. Finding out that the woman you've been seeing has slept with someone young enough to be your son would definitely do it.

He was tired, he was drunk and he was scared shitless.

If anything happened to her…

XXX

Beecher took several deep breaths trying to calm down. "Carter…what-what the hell is going on? Are you two – together?"

"No. I did spend time with him, Beecher."

"Spent time…you fucked him. Before or," the realization hit him, "it was after you slept with me."

She stood there silently and he knew he was right.

"I thought, what happened between us –

She shook her head. "I didn't mean to –

"What, you didn't mean to show up naked at my apartment? That just _happened_? You just show up at any guy's place and I happened to be the lucky one that night?" He stepped closer to her. "You're not like that, Carter. I _know_ you…"

She said softly, "You don't know me. I – it was a –"

He cut her off, not wanting to hear the words unspoken, hanging in the air, 'It was a mistake', 'It never should have happened' and the last thing he wanted to hear, 'I'm sorry.'

"Look, I heard about what happened at Rikers and that FBI agent being killed…Sometimes, people do crazy things – you and that kid…"

She looked him straight in the eye. "It wasn't just him, Beecher."

He shook his head. "No. Don't tell me that. The way you _touched_ me, the way you _made love_ to me, it had to mean _something_."

"I'm sorry."

"Joss –"

"Don't call me that. Please don't call me that." Her eyes were huge, dark saucers. "I _am_ sorry, Beecher." She stepped forward and Beecher knew she was going to leave.

She had to stay, he thought. They had to talk. If she knew how much he cared for her -

Beecher grabbed her arm.

XXX

Joss had never seen John attack someone head on.

She had fought alongside him, had been behind him, had even sometimes led the charge, but she had never seen what it was like from the perspective of the person that John was going after.

It was a great and terrible beauty*.

His overcoat billowing behind him like a cape, John leapt across the courtyard, pinning Beecher against the wall and immobilizing him, the softness of his voice underscoring the brutality of the attack. "Don't ever touch her again."

XXX

"John. Let him go. He wasn't going to hurt me."

Carter's voice sounded far away, Beecher thought, as he tried to focus on his assailant.

The guy was tall, dark haired and well dressed, the type of guy you might dismiss as a banker or some corporate type, but he radiated a quiet menace unlike anything Beecher had ever experienced in all his years on the police force.

"John. Let him go."

Carter's voice sounded a little stronger and Beecher realized it was because he could breathe freely again as the man stepped away from him.

He watched the man turn his face to look at Carter and even in the dark, Beecher could see his eyes change color, become almost incandescent as he gazed at her.

Whatever Beecher thought Carter had with the young man was nothing compared to this.

Whatever Carter had with this man defied description.

It was a living, breathing thing that would consume anyone who got in its way.

They stared at each other and Beecher knew he no longer existed.

Softly Beecher asked, "Did I ever matter to you, Joss? _Ever_?"

She slowly tore her eyes away from the other man to look at him and Beecher could see her trying to recall what he had just said. Finally her eyes focused. "I'm sorry, Calvin. I'm truly, truly sorry."

He shook his head and walked away.

XXX

He looked terrible, Joss thought.

Tired, and worn and thinner, and John was a man who was already too thin. Joss could smell the liquor on his breath, saw the sweat streaming down his face and she knew that John would have hurt Beecher very badly if he had tried to resist him.

His eyes scanned her slowly as if he was trying to memorize her. For a moment, she saw something – a sadness, a wistfulness on his face – but then his features closed down.

He walked away.

Joss stood in that empty courtyard.

Colors spun before her eyes – blue, silver, black, white.

And then they were covered with a red haze of rage.

She followed him.

*A Great and Terrible Beauty is the title of a book by Libba Bray, that I saw one day when I was in a bookstore and the title just struck me a perfect way to describe John as he was attacking someone.

A/N: Next, When Things Collide. John and Joss have been stumbling, fumbling and bumbling their way along a high narrow cliff for some time. Now they tumble off and things will get very messy indeed.


	12. Chapter 12

Near Death Experience – Chapter 12

A/N: When Things Collide. John and Joss have been stumbling, fumbling and bumbling their way along a high narrow cliff for some time. Now they tumble off and things will get very messy indeed.

This chapter is from John and Joss' POVs except for one short section which is a general narrative.

When Joss stepped out on the sidewalk, John was gone.

She knew that he had probably climbed some rooftop or descended beneath the streets in an effort to put as much distance as possible between the two of them. He would spend the next several hours on the move, wandering the city, untraceable, like the ghost she had spent all those months chasing.

She wasn't worried.

Joss knew where he lived.

She knew that eventually John would have to return home, clean up and change before he met Finch at their secret hideout.

And when he did, she'd be waiting.

XXX

For a man who could be so precise about such things as the calibration of his weapons, John Reese was amazingly cavalier about other things – blithely tossing empty coffee cups, food wrappers, maps and other evidence of his work on the floors of Finch's many vehicles.

More than once Joss had to hide her smile at Finch's look of horror as he would delicately slide into a car after John had been conducting a stakeout or some other surveillance activity for a few hours.

But it was several little pieces of evidence floating around those cars, trucks and vans that had given Joss clues as to the neighborhood where he lived.

A card from a shade and drapery installer stuck in a visor.

A sticker announcing the grand opening of a pharmacy on the front page of a newspaper crumpled in a back seat.

A coupon from a dry cleaner fluttering under a windshield wiper.

Sometimes when they were talking about goings on in New York, John would make a comment about that part of the city that indicated he had more than a general interest in it.

And occasionally during an early morning coffee, Joss would amuse herself by roughly calculating the distance from his home to wherever they met by how wet his hair gel was.

So she had a good idea of the area where John lived, even before he gave her the address of the place they were to meet at all those weeks ago.

Joss knew it wasn't exactly where he lived. John would never be that direct about anything in his personal life.

But it was his comment about having a tree house in his apartment that nailed the location for her.

During an afternoon break in the interminable debrief by different departmental, city and government officials about the events at Rikers, Joss did an online search of the New York_ Journal_'s article archives from one of the systems in the conference room. She vaguely remembered seeing a story on urban tree houses some time ago and was rewarded with the name of the company that built and installed them in the city.

Pretending to be an interested buyer, she then used the land line in the room and called the company, asking about installations in the area where John lived. The sales associate happily chirped that there were three, running off the addresses, but then apologetically noted that only two were available for viewing by their owners.

The address not available for viewing was John's.

Joss had smiled that afternoon, thinking of the little smirk she would give him when he finally ushered her into his home.

XXX

Reese moved rapidly from building to building, choosing the most difficult to access, climb and leap across, trying to keep his body busy and his brain occupied as he traveled across the city, as he traveled away from her.

It was one thing to follow her, to watch her, to listen to her phone calls.

It was another to slip the scarf she'd forgotten at a restaurant into her cruiser, to pose as a Department of Sanitation official and get her street plowed earlier, to make a sizable donation under the name of a recently deceased alumnus that will allow her son's high school debate club to attend a conference in Washington, D.C. this spring.

It was something else to actually see her face to face.

His foot caught as he jumped from one roof to the next. Scrabbling to find a handhold, Reese managed to pull himself up over the top.

And it was something else again, to have her see him.

As Reese lay there on the cold concrete, catching his breath, his flask rolled out of his pocket, glinting in the darkness.

He was clean and well dressed, but still a violent drunk, just like when he first met her.

Reese rolled over on his back. Clouds covered the night sky, giving the city an eerie glow, as snow lightly fell.

He realized that the shock of being face to face with Joss and the exertion of moving from building to building had sobered him up a little. His hand reached out and grabbed the flask.

Reese sat up, balancing the smooth silver container in his hand; judging by the way it rolled back and forth in his palm, there were still a few good belts left in there.

Slug it down, part of Reese's brain told him, but another part, the part that thrilled at seeing her again, the part that wanted to remember every second that he gazed at her, before he realized what he was doing and walked away, said no, I want to remember, at least for a little while.

He opened the flask, inhaled the aroma, imagined the taste of it on his tongue, craved the oblivion it offered.

But wanting to think about her, wanting to remember seeing her and her seeing him won out.

He thought about how strong she was, how she handled three very different men in an impossible situation.

He thought how calm she was, even when he was choking the life out of Beecher, how just the sound of her voice was enough to make him loosen his fingers.

He thought about how beautiful she was, her dark eyes glowing in the darkness as she looked at him.

He thought about how it didn't matter where they were, it didn't matter what had just happened, it didn't matter that another man was standing right there, a man who wanted her almost as much as he did - when they looked at each other, it was only the two of them and nothing else existed.

He wanted to remember that, just for a few moments, even when he knew he'd have to admit a few things to himself.

He admitted what a fraud he was, that his plan was a miserable cock up from the start, that he thought about her more, not less, that he dreamed about her every night, that he woke up hot, and hard and longing for her.

He admitted that he was jealous of the men she'd been with, furious that they had touched her soft skin, kissed her full lips, buried themselves deep inside her.

He admitted that he wanted to choke Beecher, not because he was afraid that the man would hurt her, but because Beecher tried to claim Joss for himself, that he tried to take something that didn't belong to him.

He admitted that he was angry with her, that he now knew that he had been angry with her ever since she accepted that first date with the Narcotics detective.

He admitted how much he wanted her.

He was tired, he was angry, he was drunk and he was lost without her.

Reese drank the flask dry.

Time to head to the apartment, sleep for a few hours, then report to the library.

XXX

Joss knew she had to catch him off guard.

She went to her apartment building first and put her phone in her mailbox. If John did decide to track her movements, he would think that she'd gone home. Then Joss carefully made her way across the city, avoiding any wide open thoroughfares, until she reached the street he lived on.

Her next task was to determine how John entered his building.

The man she knew would sneer at something as conventional as going through the front door. He probably had a dozen different ways of getting inside without being detected.

As she stood under the awning of a store across the street, Joss surveyed the building next door to his. It was close enough for a tall man like John to easily jump across the gap between the two buildings and it also appeared to be deserted on one end.

Quickly crossing the street, Joss walked around and saw a rickety metal staircase that looked like it was duct-taped to the side of the building. In the past it must have provided additional access to each floor, but the doors were boarded over and the stairs looked like they hadn't been used in a long time.

Out of sight, dangerous looking, roof top access.

Perfect for him.

There was a dumpster and huge piles of demolition materials scattered about on the ground providing good cover.

Joss slipped into the shadows, grateful for some overhead shelter as the snow fell.

XXX

Reese was halfway up the stairs when he heard footsteps crunching on the newly fallen snow.

As he turned, Reese knew he had to be hallucinating.

Joss. In the coat. Walking towards him. In a light snowfall.

Red coat, black hair, white snow – every detail was heightened as she walked towards him, her glowing skin, large dark eyes, full soft lips, that incredible hourglass figure.

It was what he wanted, what he fantasied about every day and dreamed of every night.

Instantly his cock became rock hard and he shifted slightly, using his heavy overcoat to hide the evidence of how much he wanted her.

She was even more beautiful than when he saw her hours earlier.

And she was furious.

Good. That would make getting rid of her easier, before he totally unraveled before her.

He bowed slightly, mockingly acknowledging not only her knowing how he would access his building, but also waiting until he was halfway up the old narrow staircase to approach him. "Well done, Detective."

"It wasn't hard, John. I just had to figure out the stupidest, most dangerous way to access a multi-story building in a snowstorm – that took, oh, about thirty seconds. And waiting until you were halfway up the stairs? Just making it easy for you." She slowly came towards him, her black boots glistening with snow as she took the first step. "Too high for you to jump, too narrow for you to walk past me – but I don't think you'll knock me down." Her lips curved in a smile that didn't meet her eyes "You'll just have to listen to me. Or you can turn around and run away."

"I don't run, Carter." I'm a drunk, a fool and a coward, he thought, but I don't run.

She laughed. "No, you're right. You'll just walk away."

The unsaid word hung in the air. Again.

Her hand trailed along the railing as she climbed the stairs, and Reese imagined her trailing her hand along his thigh.

He smiled. "I can see you worked hard on that, Carter. Stood there, waited in the darkness, practiced what you were going to say to me. I'm sure you've got more in your routine, but it's been a long day and I'm tired. So you're welcome, Carter. Go home." Go home, he thought. Please. Now.

"Tired? You're _drunk_, John. Drunk and violent and irresponsible and crazy if you think I'm going to thank you for the shit you pulled. What the hell did you think you were doing?"

"What it looked like, Carter, protecting you."

"Protecting me? You had no right doing that, John."

"_No right_? He tried to take –" Reese caught himself, just in time. "Beecher touched you, Carter."

"He wasn't going to hurt me, John. He just…" she looked away, as if she was talking to herself, "wanted to talk to me." She looked at him again. "Look…I don't need your help, I don't want your help. I can take care of myself."

She was so close he could smell the jasmine and baby oil, so close that his cock was jerking towards her, so close he could just reach out and pull her body against his.

"And you're doing such a bang up job of it, Carter, emphasis on the word 'bang.'"

"What's that supposed to mean?" But he could see in her eyes, as the realization came over her, exactly what he was talking about.

You're too good for this, Joss, he thought. You've killed, but you are not a killer. You don't know how to go for the jugular.

His voice was low and silky as if the words would gently caress her, instead of slicing her to ribbons. "You know what I mean. Beecher. What do they call him, 18 Carat Cal – well, if that was an 18 carat _fuck_, Carter, you need to ask for your money back. And then you choose a kid – it's _quality_ over quantity, Carter, not the other way around, but considering how long you stayed with him that night, I'm sure he eventually got it right, or you wouldn't have been standing on the sidewalk, watching him."

Reese watched the color drain from her face. He plunged on, cutting deeper and deeper.

"Who's next, Terney, Kane…_Fusco_ – yeah, that would add a whole new dimension to your relationship, wouldn't it? What do they call it when you have a female partner – it's not a partnership – it's a 'part-her-slit'. Or maybe you've done this before, Carter…" his lip curled, "Mark Snow – you spent a lot of time together, even after he tried to kill me. He did seek you out, told me how you actually wanted to _help_ him."

She started shaking and Reese thought, enough, enough, she's had enough, but he had been trained to not only defeat, but to obliterate. He couldn't stop.

Reese delivered the killing blow. "Tough choice, Carter, if we were both in the hallway that night?"

Instantly he wanted to take it back, but the words, terrible and ugly and cruel hung in the air as the snow stopped falling.

"Joss, I…"

She was shaking so badly that Reese was afraid she would fall down the stairs.

He reached out to steady her. "Joss…" as if saying her name could take away all he had said and done to her.

She looked at his hand on her arm and then her eyes focused on his as though he were insane. Her voice was low and deep as if it was coming from her very soul. "Don't…you…_dare_…say…" and he knew it wasn't just saying her name.

It was all the terrible and ugly and cruel things he had said, including the worst of all – telling her that he loved her all those weeks ago.

Reese expected, wanted a slap, but Joss as always, did him one better. She punched him, right in the gut, and the force and unexpectedness of it made him stumble backwards. His heel caught on a step and Reese went down hard. He felt a sharp pain in his right elbow and knew he was cut and bleeding.

In a flash, Joss straddled him. Swiftly crouching down, she grabbed the lapels of his coat and slammed his head against the metal rungs. _"Don't you dare!"_

Dazed, Reese realized that while Jocelyn Carter might be mortally wounded, she was far from dead.

The planes of her face were hard and set and her eyes were glittering like dark smooth stones as she loomed over him. "Part her slit – well, I guess you would know, '_lover_.'"

Reese closed his eyes. She heard. He thought she hadn't heard.

She nodded. "Yeah, John, I heard that. And I can see by your face, that it's true. You want to talk about choices, John, let's discuss _your_ choice. A woman who kept a man in a bomb vest for months. A woman who tried to crush us with a truck. A woman who killed a defenseless man in cold blood. A woman who didn't care how many people were killed or injured when she set those bomb vests to go off. And you talk about me doing a bang up job – your 'bang up job' was willing to blow up half the city."

Joss shook her head. "However bad my choices might have been, John – they were _nothing_ compared to yours. Maybe they weren't right for me, maybe they couldn't – but it's not about them. You weren't protecting me, John, let's be honest about that. You're pissed that I let somebody else touch me, that I didn't curl up and die after you-"

She knelt down, her knees even with his hips, her thighs pressing against his.

"Stop." Reese sat halfway up, dreading and yet wanting what she was about to do.

"No. You want to fuck me, you fuck me right here. Then you can say that you had what they had. Let's just get this over with."

She undid his pants, ran her hand along his briefs covered cock which had roared back to life.

He bit his tongue to keep from groaning, ashamed at how he shuddered at her touch. "Stop."

Her hand freed his cock, glistening with pre-cum on the tip. She lifted her skirt and with a tearing sound Reese knew she had ripped off her panties. "And then you stay away from me. I don't want to see you or hear from you or talk to you. And if you ever interfere in my personal life again, I swear I will kill you myself."

With his last ounce of strength, Reese was able to reach up and grab her hands, whispering, "Joss. Stop."

Her face changed again as a single tear ran down her cheek. She scrambled to her feet and stood there for a moment with her hand over her mouth, then turned and stumbled down the stairs and out of sight.

XXX

Joss had to get away.

What she did, what she said, how she _touched_ him – her mind saw him cut, battered and exposed on the steps.

She slipped and almost fell on the sidewalk.

No. Don't think, just keep moving.

XXX

Reese lay there, listened to the fading sound of her footsteps. He touched the back of his head and realized he was bleeding.

He was tired, he was angry, he was drunk and he wanted her.

Reese fixed his clothing, got painfully to his feet and turned to walk up the stairs.

He wanted her.

Reese closed his eyes.

He wanted her.

Reese turned and went after her.

XXX

Just a couple of more blocks, Joss thought as she ran, then she could get a taxi or take the subway.

She stopped, opened her coat and pulled her blouse out of the waistband of her skirt, letting the cold air cool her overheated body.

Just a little further, she thought as she walked along.

XXX

He followed her footsteps in the snow.

Joss was moving fast, faster than he would have thought considering the snow on the ground.

Reese knew he had to get to her before she reached a main thoroughfare.

He started to run.

XXX

Joss heard the sound of running footsteps.

She stopped, turned around. The snow covered street was deserted, eerily quiet, except for the sound of the approaching footsteps.

I'm not going to run, she thought. He's not going to make me run.

John turned the corner and stopped, so tall and slender, his dark hair and clothes standing out in sharp relief to everything covered with snow.

For a moment they stood there, staring at each other, and then John started walking towards her.

"Stay away from me, John." She turned and started walking again.

She heard his footsteps behind her.

She stopped, turned around again. "I told you to stay away from me."

She turned and started walking again, faster.

Suddenly he was right behind her.

She whirled around. His eyes changed color as he looked at her.

Joss began to tremble, but she knew it wasn't because of the cold.

She slapped him.

He slid his right hand along her waist.

She slapped him again.

He lifted her shirt and pressed his hand against the scars on her waist.

She raised her hand again, and then Joss pulled his head forward, crushing her lips against his.

XXX

It didn't matter where they were.

They didn't care about the cold, or the fact they were in public or the snow, which had started to fall again.

They didn't care about what they had said or done to each other.

They had denied each other and themselves for too long.

They heard a gasp and the sound of quickening footsteps going by, but it didn't matter.

They couldn't stop.

Their hands, so nimble and sure with weapons, couldn't seem to figure out how to undo their clothes – Reese tore her blouse and bra open and Joss broke the zipper on his pants as they strove to get closer, closer, ever closer to one another.

They stumbled into a store entryway, the falling snow drawing a curtain over their desperate, thrusting bodies.

XXX

When he made love to her breasts, his tongue and lips and teeth and hands pulling and licking and sucking and biting, she cried out and Reese knew she had come.

Yes, not Beecher, not that boy, he thought savagely, not any of the other men who want you. I'm the only one who can do that to you.

When he touched the bud between her legs and felt it blossom and quiver under his hand, felt her body arch and stiffen against his, Reese thought no other man will ever touch you again.

She was so soft and so strong, Reese thought, how could she be so soft and yet so strong.

He caressed her soft, silky skin, felt her taut, sleek muscles as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

Reese sank into her, as he strove to get closer, closer, ever closer to her.

He felt a surge as if he'd orgasmed, but he was still hard as a rock, thrusting inside her.

Reese felt something he hadn't felt for a long time.

He felt alive.

XXX

Enough.

The first orgasm when he touched her breasts should have been enough, or perhaps the second when he touched the bud between her thighs, or the even third when he entered her, but it wasn't.

It wasn't enough.

Not with him.

Joss wanted more and she pulled him closer, closer, ever closer to her.

She drew him deep inside her body, her vulva clenching around him as wave after wave crashed through her.

She cursed and she swore and she said things that she had never said before, driving him on and on until finally his cries joined hers, his release so shattering that it shook both their bodies from head to foot.

She clung to him, terrified, because she wanted more.

XXX

They were in each other's arms but not holding each other, as the world came back, as their breathing slowed, as they realized what they had done with and to each other.

As Reese smoothed down her skirt, he saw that her shirt buttons were scattered all across the store entryway, right out to the sidewalk, glinting in the snow.

His hands started to shake as he tried to draw her coat around her body.

Joss raised her hands, stopping him. She stepped away from him, slowly closing her coat and tying it with the belt.

"Joss.."

"Don't."

She walked into the swirling snow and vanished.

As Reese fixed his clothes, he realized where he was.

The main entryway for Cat and Mouse.

The cat and the parrot watched impassively as John Reese sank to his knees and cried.

A/N: We saw anger, hurt, jealousy and passion in this chapter, and while many words were spoken _to_ and _at_ each other, John and Joss did not _talk_ to each other. They need some help.

Next: Free fall and we finally hear from Harold Finch.


	13. Chapter 13

Near Death Experience – Chapter 13

Thank you for your patience. Many of you know that I lost someone close to me - I appreciated the kind words and thoughts. They were a source of comfort during a difficult time.

A/N: This chapter is from John's, Joss' and Harold's POV and we also spend some time with Bear.

"For some of us, human interaction is difficult." – Harold Finch, _No Good Deed_

Despite what his friends thought, Harold Finch rarely listened in on their private conversations. Oh, he liked to know where they were, what they were doing and if they were alright, of course, and he enjoyed teasing and tweaking them occasionally - especially Detective Carter, who always had a tart retort - but for the most part he left them alone.

It wasn't because of some sense of propriety or modesty – during his years developing the Machine, Harold had been witness to the full range of humanity, and while he was often shocked and saddened by what he saw and heard, very little surprised him anymore.

No, he chose not to listen in, because what they often had to say was incredibly dull.

Fusco nattering on about some ancient high school playoff loss, Carter dissecting the minutia of a recent court decision and Reese seeking his own Holy Grail – the perfect hair care product – would make anyone want to tear their own hair out in frustration.

What _was_ fascinating was that they could actually find someone interested in listening to them, but there was always a fellow linesman, prosecutor or store clerk eager to join in, even though Finch suspected that the retailers were interested in John's eyes – or perhaps, his lips quirked, a customer for life.

Harold didn't spare himself from his harsh assessment – even Bear, who normally liked to listen to different voices, accents and sounds, would lower his ears, yawn and wander off to another part of the library when Finch periodically attended global webinars, posing as a Yale University Beinecke Rare Book & Manuscript Library archivist.

Bear treated rare books like sausage – he liked to eat them, but had no interest in hearing how they were made, stored or preserved.

But now Finch would have gladly listened to a million dull conversations instead of the silence.

The silence.

It had started between Reese and Carter, but had ensnared them all in its icy grip, in the way that certain things were not said, in the way that they hid from each other, even if they were in the same room, in the way that they avoided working together face to face.

On the surface, nothing had changed: they were committed to the cause, they were executing their tasks, they were helping people.

But in reality, everything was different.

They weren't a team any more.

XXX

The sound jolted Harold out of a dead sleep.

He sat up, ignoring the shooting pains in his neck and shoulder. Ever since the Machine had been infected with the virus Kara Stanton had uploaded all those weeks ago, Finch had been working in the library almost around the clock, only dragging himself to one of the offices on the other side of the long hallway that had been converted into makeshift bedrooms when he could no longer keep his eyes open.

Fumbling for his glasses, Harold's exhausted mind struggled to understand what he was hearing.

It was crying. Someone was crying.

No, it was Bear.

Something was terribly wrong.

Lurching down the hall, Finch tried to prepare himself.

The alarms and deterrents that he and Reese had installed throughout the library were in place, so Harold knew that no one had breached the old building.

Perhaps Bear was hurt, but as Harold got closer, he realized it didn't sound as though the dog was in pain.

It was as if he was trying to comfort someone.

Bear was standing on his hind legs, with his front paws on Finch's work table, staring at the many blank screens. He turned his head to Finch, his eyes imploring him to come closer, then began that strange sad sound again as he turned back to the monitors.

John. There had to be something wrong with John.

Finch didn't question how Bear knew, how he could sense that something had happened. There are still so many things in this world that are unexplainable, and the bonds that we form, sometimes consciously, sometimes against our better judgment, are some of the deepest mysteries that could never be understood, and probably shouldn't be.

They simply are.

To Bear, Reese was the man who saved him, who literally spoke to him in a language that he could understand, after so many bad situations and so many bad people. Even though Bear spent almost all of his time with Finch, even though he was devoted to Finch, he would always have a special connection with John, would always be waiting patiently for him to return.

Rubbing the back of Bear's head, Finch tried reaching Reese via his earpiece and then his phone, but both were shut off. He sat down, his fingers flying across the keyboard as he accessed the tracking device in Reese's phone. Harold punched up a grid of the street where Reese was located, then brought up the feed from a camera.

Through the swirling snow, Finch saw John Reese on his knees, a look of complete and utter devastation on his face.

Quickly Harold accessed other cameras, scanning nearby streets. He saw a slash of red.

Jocelyn Carter, her head lowered, walking slowly away.

Finch could have rewound the footage, but he didn't have to – he knew that they had hurt each other in the way that only two people who truly loved each other could.

Harold shut down the transformers on the street, knocking out power for several minutes and then reset the electronic clocks of every camera back and then forward several hours, causing them to copy over any footage. If anyone did check the cameras, they would blame the missing data on the snow storm, which had interrupted power in several parts of the city.

He shut off his screens, removed his glasses and slumped in his chair, rubbing his eyes. Bear dropped back down to the floor, nudging Finch's leg. "Yes…yes…I know." he whispered.

Bear laid his head on Harold's knee and man and dog sat there, comforting each other.

XXX

Somehow Joss made it home. She retrieved her phone from her mailbox, checked it and was relieved to find that there were no emergency messages or call outs.

There was a text from the barista, asking if she was okay. Joss replied that she was alright; for a moment she wanted to say something else, to try to explain, but she knew that she had said and done all too much already, so she merely thanked him and told him to take care.

Besides, how could she explain what she didn't understand herself?

Quietly, she opened the door to her apartment. Taylor would be up soon and she didn't want to wake him, didn't want him to see her like this.

As Joss entered her place she was assaulted by the scent of the roses Beecher had sent her. Nauseated, she grabbed the two vases and took the bouquets to her neighbor, Mrs. Gillick, who lived down the hall, placing them in front of her apartment door.

Joss slipped back in her apartment and went to her bedroom, avoiding the dresser mirror as she stripped off her clothes.

But as she walked into her bathroom, Joss caught her image in the mirror over the sink.

She didn't look any different.

Joss stood there in disbelief as her eyes roved over her naked body.

Her hair was wild and her mouth was swollen, but hair could be fixed and her lips were well on their way to assuming their normal fullness.

She should look different, she thought.

There should be something there - a mark, a scratch, a bruise - _something_ to show what she had done last night.

The barista, Beecher and John.

John.

She had screamed at him, punched him, slapped him.

She had taken him into her body in a way that she never had with any other man.

She could still feel him inside her.

Her nipples hardened as she touched the dried semen on her thigh.

Stop, she thought, _stop_.

She stepped into the shower, determined to wash it all away.

XXX

Reese sat in the store entryway, knees drawn up to his chest.

He didn't feel the cold, didn't feel that his clothes were soaked through, didn't feel the cuts and bumps and bruises.

He sat there, watching the snow fall.

XXX

Just call me Goldilocks.

Joss sighed as she looked at the two coats on her bed.

When had the camel coat become so heavy and the gray coat so skimpy?

She had yet to wear either one this winter.

Neither one of them was just right.

She opened her closet.

Even on a dank, dreary morning like this, it glowed.

Everything she'd worn last night was torn, scuffed, stained or gone – even her silver hoop earrings were missing - except this.

It was perfect.

Perfect.

As perfect as the day it appeared in her bedroom.

Joss pulled the red coat out of her closet.

It was as if the sun was shining in her room, on that first real spring day after a long winter.

Bright and clear and soft and warm, it made you stop what you were doing, stand still and close your eyes while it enveloped you, seeping into every pore.

You felt totally open, yet totally protected at the same time.

And when you finally, reluctantly, opened your eyes, everything around you seemed wan and washed out.

Joss quickly put the red coat on, then left her bedroom without looking in the dresser mirror.

XXX

The parrot had quickly become bored with him and fluttered over to one of his many perches in the display window, but the cat lingered, her large eyes soft and questioning. Reese knew that she was looking for Bear, even though it had been weeks since they'd been at the store, weeks, if he was being honest, since he had spent any significant time with the dog at all.

But of course, Mouse didn't know that. He was here, so Bear had to be nearby.

She tucked her front paws under her chest and settled down to wait.

XXX

It wasn't until mid-morning that Joss noticed the change.

She'd spent the first part of the day at the courthouse with the prosecutors reviewing her previous testimony and then stopped at a coffee wagon as she walked to the precinct.

Gone were the long gazes, the frank stares, the open appraisals from men.

Now there was awareness, acknowledgement, a quiet respectfulness.

They were looking at her as though she was taken.

As if they knew she belonged to someone.

XXX

Reese expected the slow, measured footsteps. The bakery had been open for hours and staffers had noticed him sitting in the main entrance when they entered the display window, spiriting Cat and Mouse away while their space was cleaned before the bookstore itself opened.

The older man who stood before him was a study in contrasts. A neatly trimmed Van Dyck beard highlighted the jagged scar running down his cheek. His t-shirt and apron were sweaty and covered with stains, indicating a morning of hard work, while his sharply creased dress pants and hand tooled leather boots spoke to other, more leisurely pursuits. Faded prison tattoos decorated his strong ropy arms, but his nails were manicured. He shifted back and forth as though his feet were aching, yet the movement was easy and graceful. No gun, but Reese could make out the outline of a truncheon at his waist through his apron and one of those beautiful boots concealed a thin blade in the tip of the toe.

The two men nodded at each other.

"Shorthanded today?" Reese asked.

The man shrugged. "Snow. They see a flake and they turn into flakes. They're all here now." He squatted down in front of Reese, inhaling deeply. "Scotch, sweat, blood _and_ sex – you had quite the night it seems, but you look like shit."

Reese raised an eyebrow. "Shouldn't I?"

The man smiled softly. "Well, there's the 'I'm fucked, but I can't wait to do it again tomorrow' looking like shit and then there's your looking like shit. Less debauchery and excess…more pain…and loss. A cool tale for a scorching summer day, not now." He stood, tilting his head towards the bakery. "Coffee?"

Reese shook his head.

"I was going to give you ten minutes, but if you don't want coffee, you got five." His voice was calm, but firm. "I'm going to get back to my real job and you should get back to yours." His eyes flickered over Reese. "Sometimes that's all you've got left."

As Reese unfolded his long legs to stand up, he saw a gleaming circle of silver on the ground – one of Joss' earrings. He scooped it up, his eyes casting about for its mate. The older man scanned the sidewalk and gracefully picked up the other one, handing it to Reese. For a moment, he looked as though he wanted to say something, but then he stepped back from the entryway.

Reese was halfway down the street when the man called out, "If you come back, bring your friend."

Reese stopped, turned around.

"Mouse misses him." He nodded at Reese and headed back towards the bakery, his steps slow and measured.

XXX

The Homicide Task Force bullpen was quiet and hushed as murder took a snow day. There were deaths related to the storm – car accidents, heart attacks, falls – but no new murders.

Fusco looked up over his bifocals as Joss walked to her desk. "You okay, Carter?" he asked softly, as she took off her coat.

"I'm…just tired, Fusco." Joss tried to keep her hand steady as she picked up some case folders. "I'm going to…"

He nodded, turning his attention back to the work on his desk, but not for the first time, Joss wondered how much her partner had figured out what had happened between her and John.

Her legs were wobbly as she left the bullpen. Trailing one hand against the wall to steady herself, Joss made her way down the hall past the file room to the tiny women's lavatory. She laid the folders on the little shelf over the sinks and then entered one of the stalls, pressing her forehead against the scratched metal door.

She thought she was so smart, thought she had it all figured out, that it was just a simple matter of biology and stress, that if she read enough, worked enough, ran enough, cleaned enough –

Joss sat heavily down on the toilet.

Or found the right man to fuck, those looks would go away.

Nothing had worked.

Until last night.

All this time. How could she not have known?

The precinct's old pipes clanked and jangled, as though they were jeering at her.

No, that wasn't true, she finally admitted to herself. A part of her had always known – had wanted him, needed him, called for him, yearned for him. A part of her had always known he was near.

Every tactic, every plan, every solution that she thought would bring her forward, had just brought her back to the same place.

She was still standing in the middle of that narrow, cobblestoned street, watching him walk away.

Stunned, Joss put her face in her hands as she suddenly realized where they had ended up last night.

She sat there, unable to move, until the lavatory door opened.

"Shit!" It was Woodward from Robbery. Joss heard the sound of running water as her fellow detective continued to mutter and curse.

Joss exited the stall and the two women nodded to each other, while the other officer dabbed at a spreading stain on her shirt. "Know how to get rid of grape juice stains, Carter?"

Joss shook her head as she washed her hands and splashed water on her face. "Other than throwing your shirt out, no."

Woodward laughed, then clicked her fingers. "Hey, your partner was looking for you. Think you have a call out."

XXX

He should have been at the library hours ago.

Reese walked slowly through the streets as the city reclaimed its territory from last night's wintery invasion. The snow was already grimy and gray, splattered blue and red and green with all the concoctions that claimed to remove it with no fuss, when a five dollar plastic shovel would have been faster and much less expensive.

He had a toiletries kit and a change of clothes there. It wasn't a suit, but it was clean and with the Machine dispensing numbers irregularly, his Man in a Suit persona probably wasn't needed.

As he mounted the library stairs, Reese wasn't worried when he didn't hear claws scrabbling on the old wooden floors – Bear had stopped rushing to greet him some time ago.

The library was empty.

Finch and Bear had been there; there was an empty cup of Sencha Green Tea in the wastepaper basket and splotches of water on the floor around Bear's water bowl indicating that they had recently left, probably for a walk.

They had waited for him many times – he could wait for them. Reese headed towards the bathroom to clean himself up.

XXX

"You sure you're not sick, Carter? You were so long in the can, I thought you drowned in there." Fusco eyed her suspiciously as they walked down the street.

"I'm _fine_, Fusco."

After the _Journal_ recently published an expose about how city vehicles regularly flouted parking regulations, especially during inclement weather, an edict had come down from the brass mandating that any non-patrol related vehicles be parked in city lots in advance of an impending storm, so the two detectives were trudging towards a lot a few blocks from the precinct.

Fusco snorted. "You don't look fine. If you're going to hurl, Shirl, just don't do it on my shoes, ok?"

Joss raised an eyebrow as she looked down at his feet. "They _are_ ugly shoes, Fusco."

For a moment, they smirked at each other, with a hint of their old camaraderie.

"Yeah, well they almost bought it during yesterday's _scholastic enrichment_ _excursion_. I'm telling you, Carter, the next time we're trying to sweat a hard case, we should just put him in a school bus with a bunch of kids – he'd crack in five minutes." Fusco filled her in on the field trip as they walked along.

Grateful for the distraction, Joss listened intently, pushing the events of last night and this morning's thoughts far away. She was so focused that her mind didn't register at first the silhouette in front of her, until she heard Bear's happy bark as the man and his dog stepped out from under an awning.

Her partner had dropped back and was no longer beside her.

The four of them stood in a strange tableau – Finch and Bear in front of her, Fusco behind her and herself in the middle.

As Joss whirled around to confront him, Fusco made a strange bobbing motion with his knees, then straightened his legs, blushing.

"I apologize for the deception, but I need a few moments of your time, Detective." Finch said.

She spun back to the two figures in front of her, barely keeping her anger under control. "Could of just asked. We talk almost every day, _Finch_."

"On the phone, yes, but it's been some time since we've spoken face to face –" his eyes flicked past her for a moment and Joss knew that her partner had slipped away, "- and I wasn't sure if you would meet me."

Joss looked away. He was right. While she would work readily with Finch over the phone or via her computer, she'd find any number of excuses to avoid meeting him, sending Fusco instead.

"Please, Detective, it's important."

Finally, she stepped forward.

They walked down the street and around the corner. Joss noted that Finch was dressed impeccably as always and that Bear was nattily outfitted as well, with a coat and matching booties to protect his paws from rock salt and the solutions used to melt snow and ice. The dog ambled easily between the two humans as if this was something that they did every day and Joss was reminded that the last time she'd seen Bear was on a warm fall afternoon when she had felt strong and sure and true.

When she knew who she was.

As they neared the end of the street, she saw that Finch was heading towards the historical society's private garden.

Joss hesitated as Finch moved towards the garden gate.

"It's perfectly alright. I'm a member here." He took an elaborate key shaped like a bird out of his coat pocket and unlocked the gate. "Bear could use the fresh air and we'll have some privacy."

They stepped inside. The paths had been neatly shoveled and the snow, sparkling and pristine, covered the grounds.

Finch pointed out several flowers poking through the snow. "These are hellebores* – they actually flower during the winter. I'm always fascinated by how some things bloom, even under the harshest conditions. An overeager volunteer pulled these up by mistake last summer and threw them in a refuse pile – scorching heat, no water – but they were replanted and look how they've come back – perhaps even a little stronger for the experience."

He extended an arm towards the covered bench, and after a moment, Joss sat beside him. Bear settled down in front of them and Joss raised her eyebrows but didn't move when the dog laid his head on her foot.

Finch looked off into the distance. "Would it surprise you to know that Mr. Reese and I had some difficulty collaborating at first?" He didn't wait for her to reply. "I'm sure it wouldn't. Both you and Detective Fusco could easily enumerate our failings and flaws. But over time, we began to focus on what brought us together. Most of it, of course, was our shared commitment. We both believe fervently in helping others and that belief made us strive to work past our differences. But a significant part of the change was you."

"Me?" Joss shifted in surprise. Bear lifted his head, making a protesting noise - Joss quickly stopped moving and the dog again laid his head on her foot.

Finch turned his body towards hers. "Yes, Detective, you. John would never admit it, but you came close to apprehending him several times. Your pursuit also forced us to see past our differences, to begin to trust each other. We had to, if we were going to avoid detection and possible capture." He paused. "In one way or another…you've been with us, from the very beginning."

Joss' eyes filled with tears, as she absorbed the irony of that statement. She blinked them away as Finch looked down at Bear, his face softening for a moment, then he met her eyes again. "When John was taken by Ms. Stanton, I told Bear that we'd get him back, but we didn't, not really. He looks like John, walks like John, talks like John, but he's not John. His ability to empathize, sometimes exasperatingly so, with those who need our assistance, is gone. For many of the people we help it's not a concern – their lives are in danger and they'll do whatever we ask to save themselves, but for others, they have to feel they can trust a complete stranger. Without that trust – I'm afraid that we'll lose someone."

"Say what you have to say, Finch." Joss whispered.

He nodded. "I need you to get John back for our work."

Joss shook her head. "I can't do that."

"You're the only one who can. John may have been the one in custody but you were both prisoners, Detective. You're the only one who understands."

"No." Joss wanted to jump up and leave, but she felt rooted to the spot, Bear's head like a lead weight on her foot.

"You were able to reach him, when he went to New Rochelle, you can reach him now."

"I knew who I was then, Finch. I don't know who I am anymore. I -" the words stuck in her throat, sharp and raw. "I've done things, I've hurt… people…I've hurt John."

Finch's voice was soft. "I don't know what happened between the two of you, Joss, but I do know that John hurt you very deeply. Sometimes it's the ones we truly care for that we inflict the most damage on. We think we're protecting them, but…" Joss saw something in Finch's eyes, something that hinted at his own past, but then she saw it snap shut as he leaned forward slightly. "You've been helping people your entire life, Detective. You recognize more than any of us the duty we have towards our fellow man. Does that stop now? Could you live with yourself if you didn't at least try?"

The gate opened and two staffers walked in, murmuring, "Good morning, Mr. Whistler**," as they passed by.

He stood up, drawing Bear to his feet. "Detective Fusco and I have cleared your schedule for the rest of the day. I hope you'll consider what we've discussed."

She stood up without answering him.

For the first time, Finch touched her, gently enclosing her hand in his. "I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me."

Joss nodded, unable to speak.

As she walked away, Finch told her, "It's a beautiful coat, Jocelyn. It suits you."

XXX

Finch sighed as he watched her leave.

He hadn't wanted to become her friend.

He hadn't wanted to be anyone's friend.

Losing his best friend and walking away from the woman he loved had brought home with a stunningly painful clarity the danger of forming any sort of attachments.

After Reese had been shot, Harold had had a very tense meeting with Detective Carter, where he could barely contain his rage at her. He knew that most of it was because Reese had almost died due to the detective divulging his whereabouts to Agent Snow, but he also knew that some of his fury was because he had been forced to admit to himself that John Reese was more than just muscle or an instrument of intervention – despite all of Finch's efforts, he had become a valued and trusted friend.

He raised an eyebrow at another one of those attachments, who gazed happily up at him. "I'm glad you think that went well."

They left the garden, carefully closing the gate behind them.

XXX

Reese finished cleaning himself up and changed his clothes. When he'd undressed, he'd laid Joss' earrings on top of the sink – he picked them up as he turned to go back into the main space.

Rummaging through Finch's jumbled collection of office supplies, Reese found a plain white envelope – he'd put the earrings in it and then slip the envelope in Joss' apartment mailbox – if he left now, he could go there and get back before Finch and Bear returned.

But when he opened the flap to drop the earrings inside, he hesitated.

Reese couldn't remember ever seeing Joss without these earrings – which he often teasingly told her should be called 'bore-rings' because they were so plain and simple – on.

Now they shimmered in his hand like precious jewels or a long lost talisman.

No, after everything else, the least he could do would be to return them to her, face to face.

Reese dropped the envelope, his palm gently curling around the small pieces of metal, as he sat down to wait for Finch and Bear.

XXX

Suck it up. Take one for the team. Do your part. Be a good sport. Do your duty. Hadn't she always done that?

_I hope you'll consider what we've discussed._

What discussion? He talked, she just sat there.

She didn't want to consider _anything_, she just wanted to be – a surge of emotions flooded through Joss' body – emotions that she didn't want to think about, acknowledge or even identify.

She just wanted to be angry.

Joss stomped up the stairs of her apartment building.

She let them manipulate her, let them pull something on her that a toddler could have seen through. Fusco, Finch –

Bear. She let herself be held hostage by a _dog_.

Even the dog. Even the damn dog.

She stalked into her apartment, slamming the door shut so hard that the sound reverberated throughout her place, rattling items on a small curio shelf. Joss watched helplessly as a figurine toppled forward, breaking in half as it landed on the floor.

It was part of a collection that her mother-in-law had subscribed to when Joss was pregnant with Taylor. Every month they would receive a different crystal figurine which was supposed to depict the different stages of childhood.

They were terrible – lumpy, bumpy and dumpy, indifferently designed and indifferently made, the glass cloudy and speckled.

She hated them, her husband hated then, Taylor hated them and she sensed that her mother-in-law hated them too, but they kept coming. Every month Joss would dutifully put the new selection on the shelf, carefully packing away last month's in a container with all the others. Even after her mother-in-law passed away and the shipments stopped, Joss continued to display them, rotating them one at a time.

Joss picked up the broken figurine, slipping it in her coat pocket. She walked over to the storage closet, pulling down a large plastic container. She didn't open it – she knew that they were all there, quietly awaiting their next turn in the spotlight.

Grimacing at the weight, Joss carried the container out of her apartment.

XXX

Reese smiled softly at him. "You're kicking me out."

Bear had wisely gone to his bed, as Finch solemnly regarded his partner.

For once, Harold was glad there wasn't a number.

The man sitting in the library wouldn't have gotten the trust of even the most desperate person. His skin was dull, his lips were chapped and his eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot. He was gaunt and his clothes, while clean, didn't hang well on him. He looked like he should be receiving help instead of offering it.

"We don't have a number, Mr. Reese, but even if we did…you're not…fit for duty, John."

For a long moment, Reese gazed at him, then he nodded. "I'm not sure if I'm fit for anything, Harold."

"Go home, John. Rest, truly rest. We'll talk tomorrow."

As he stood, Finch noticed that Reese slipped something small in his pocket.

"Do you think we ever truly make amends, Harold?"

"For some things, no. But we have to try."

Finch watched as Reese walked over to Bear, knelt down and gently stroked one of his ears. Harold went over to one of his file cabinets, his back to the two of them. He heard Reese's soft voice murmuring to Bear, and after a while, he heard a slow, rhythmic beat as Bear's tail thrummed against the old wooden floors. He listened as the thrumming became louder and faster, continuing even after Reese was gone.

XXX

Despite the cold, Joss was sweating when she finally reached the cluster of recycling dumpsters in the parking lot of the apartment complex at the end of her block. The one for glass was in the back, and Joss could tell that it was rarely opened, in this day of paper, plastic and five cent bottle returns. She put her container on the ground and wrenched the sliding door of the dumpster open, the screeching sound making her nerves jangle like chalk on a blackboard.

Ripping the container's cover off, Joss picked up a figurine. She slung the first one inside, hearing it shatter against the back of the dumpster.

Over and over again, she threw the figurines in, listening to them smash as they hit the wall, smash as they fell to the bottom of the dumpster and then smash again as they tumbled and bounced against each other.

Smash, smash, smash.

Tears began to run down her cheeks. She could barely see, was fumbling for the next figurine, but she would grab it and hurl it in.

Smash, smash, smash.

Why?

Smash, smash, smash.

Why didn't you fight, Jocelyn?

Smash, smash, smash.

She had always been willing to fight for others. She'd fought for her family, her friends, her classmates, her comrades, her colleagues, her city, her country. She'd fought for fools and criminals, for people who hated her, for people who tried to kill her.

She'd fought for him.

Smash, smash, smash.

When had she ever fought for herself?

Smash, smash, smash.

Why did you let him go?

Smash, smash, smash.

Why didn't you grab him, hold on to him, tell him he wasn't leaving?

Smash, smash, smash.

Why didn't you tell him?

Smash, smash, smash.

He might have left anyway, but at least he would have known.

Smash, smash, smash.

At least he would have known.

She was sobbing now, raw wrenching sobs, as everything poured out of her.

Smash, smash, smash.

The things she said, the things she did.

Smash, smash, smash.

The people she hurt.

Smash, smash, smash.

The lies she told, most of all to herself.

Smash, smash, smash.

She loved him.

Smash, smash, smash.

She loved him.

Smash, smash, smash.

She loved him.

Smash, smash, smash.

Say it.

Smash, smash, smash.

Say it.

Smash, smash, smash.

I love you.

Smash, smash, smash.

I love you, John, I love you.

Joss felt in the container – it was empty.

As she reached in her coat pocket for the broken figurine, her fingers brushed up against a small box. Finch had pressed it into her hand when he thanked her for meeting with him. Intent on leaving before she fell apart in front of him, Joss had slipped it in her pocket without opening it.

There was a key and an address written on a card inside.

Joss put the box and the broken figurine back in her pocket.

Finch was right. She understood duty to others. She had done her duty for others. She would always do her duty for others.

But for once, she would honor the duty to herself.

As Joss closed the dumpster door, a woman walked into the space. "You need that container?" she asked, looking at it covetously.

Joss shook her head. "No, not anymore." And she walked away.

XXX

On his way out of the library, Reese stopped in the bathroom. He began gathering his dirty, wet, torn clothes, putting them in a trash bag. When he picked up his overcoat, he remembered the flask, still in the left hand pocket.

Reese stepped on it, crushing it and added it to the other items in the trash.

Finch was right. He needed to rest, truly rest – a rest not induced by alcohol, numbing exhaustion or giddy anticipation.

He needed to be fit for duty.

And he needed to be absolutely clear headed to have that one last conversation with her.

Perhaps then he could explain, not to ask for or get her forgiveness, but simply to let her know.

Reese fingered the earrings in his pocket as he left the old building.

XXX

It was beautiful.

Joss stood in John's loft, turning around slowly as she took in the high ceilings, the long windows, the exquisite furnishings, the soft muted colors.

She smiled softly when she saw the tree house.

It was like something out of a magazine.

It was beautiful, absolutely beautiful.

But there was an emptiness here, an emptiness apart from the soaring open spaciousness.

It was as if nobody lived here.

How could John have come back to this place, after he helped someone, after he returned them to their lives and to their loved ones?

How could he have come back here last night, after what they had done to each other?

Joss took off her coat, walked over to the couch. As she leaned forward to drape it over the back, a swatch of purple caught her eye.

Joss pushed the couch forward as she stepped around it. She picked up a soft, plush pillow, the color of eggplant.

Several boxes were neatly lined up behind the piece of furniture. Joss laid them on the couch.

There were pillows and throws and candles and vases, so many wonderful things, all beautifully designed and crafted, the rich, deep hues blazing against the couch's black leather as she spread them out.

She knew that he had bought all these things for her, all for the day she was supposed to come to his apartment.

Joss scattered the pillows on the couch, draped a throw over the arm. She laid the rug on the bathroom floor, put the soap and lotion on the sink. She took limes from the almost barren refrigerator and jelly beans from a bag in a kitchen drawer and put them in the vases that she arranged on the kitchen island. She found a home for everything, placing the candles on the dining table, the extra throws in a storage ottoman.

The last item was a small covered bowl. Joss took the lid off and read the small card that the artist had placed inside. The bowl had been made from the burl*** of a tree. She ran her fingers over the wood, smooth and warm to the touch, the grain swirling and twining in a hypnotic dance of light and dark, strong yet incredibly sensual.

Joss cradled the bowl against her chest, trying to decide where it should go. As she surveyed the loft, the sun suddenly streamed through those tall windows, highlighting something red just barely shimmering against the glass, on the desk.

She started walking over to the desk, when the door to the apartment opened.

XXX

Finch had chosen the word carefully when he had spoken to them.

Not love.

Not friendship.

But duty, yes.

Duty to others, duty to the team, duty to the mission.

And perhaps, hopefully, duty to each other, duty to see past the hurt and the pain, duty to find the friendship and the love they had for each other, the love that Finch knew they had had for each for a long time.

Bear sat beside him as Harold brought up the signals from the tracking devices.

Detective Carter didn't have her phone last night, so Finch had implanted a tracking device in the key he had given her this morning.

They were together.

He imagined that the conversation would be anything but dull.

Harold shut everything down, except for the line from the Machine in case there was a number.

He stood. "Come, Bear. I think you deserve a nice long walk."

XXX

She should have been dwarfed by the space, but she wasn't.

Framed by the tall windows, the oversized furniture, the bare open floors, Joss should have been swallowed up, reduced, somehow diminished by her surroundings, but she wasn't.

She had taken all those things that Reese had purchased, all the things that he had packed away after that morning, things that he couldn't bear to look at, but yet couldn't bear to get rid of, and artfully arranged them, the bright pops of color drawing you into the space, beckoning you to touch them.

She looked like she was at ease here, like she had always been here, like she knew the loft better than he did.

As though she was welcoming him home.

Reese closed the loft door, began walking slowly towards her. "Trying your hand at decorating, Carter?"

Joss shrugged. "Might need a fallback career. She placed the bowl on the coffee table. "You know, in case this cop – slash – 'whatever' thing doesn't work out." She held up her right index finger. "I did get you a housewarming gift." Joss walked over to the couch and fished out what looked like a glass figurine from her coat. She laid it next to the bowl.

Reese smiled softly. "It's _broken_, Carter."

Her lips quirked. "Trust me, it looks better this way."

Their smiles faded as they gazed at each other. Reese had watched Joss carefully as she gone over to the couch, looking for any sign that he had physically hurt her last night, but there was no hesitation or stiffness in her movements. Her hair was pulled back and she had on a white button down shirt and dark jeans, the shirt highlighting her face and neck, the jeans hugging her long thighs and a waist that was so small, Reese felt he could encompass it with his hands, with room to spare.

Reese reached into his pocket and handed Joss her earrings.

"Thank you. They were given to me a long time ago." Her face brightened as though she had just figured something out. She lifted the lid on the covered bowl, took out a small card and placed it on the table, putting the earrings in its place. "Did you know that this bowl is very rare?"

Reese shook his head. "No."

"The card says it was created from a burl. Burls can be formed when a tree is injured. On the outside they look bad, all gnarly and nasty and bumpy, but on the inside, they can become something special." Her eyes, always so expressive, were huge and even darker than normal. "They have to be handled carefully – they're hard and difficult to work with, and they can shatter easily." She stepped close to him. "But with time and the right touch, they can be beautiful, John. Really beautiful."

Reese sank to his knees. "I'm sorry, Joss."

"I'm not." Joss pulled him to his feet. "I love you, John."

She began to walk over to the couch, changed her mind and led him to the bed instead

She sat with her back against the headboard. Reese stretched out beside her, put his head in her lap. One arm went around her waist, the other curled around her knees as she pulled up her legs beside her. One of her hands lay on his back, while the other, slowly, hesitantly, fingered his hair.

They talked for a long time, without saying a word.

A/N: Next, conversations and in chapter 15, the FBI meets the fixer.

*Hellebores are tough, shade tolerant, winter blooming perennials that flower in a variety of colors. You may know them as Christmas or Lenten Roses.

** The adult male Golden Whistler is an Australian bird, bright yellow on the underside, olive-green on the back and wings, and black on the head with a bright yellow collar. The throat is white, separated from the yellow chest by a broad black band. The bill and legs are black.

*** A burl results from a tree undergoing some form of stress, for example from an injury. The usually look like a knotty, gnarly growth. As the burl grows, its grain will often twist and turn, resulting in fantastic patterns. Burls are prized for their beauty and rarity and are highly sought after by furniture makers, artists, and wood sculptors. In 2012, a man was arrested in Boston, Massachusetts for illegally harvesting and selling burls from trees in Harvard University's Arnold Arboretum and several Boston parks. It was estimated that the thefts yielded over $100,000 just for the raw wood.


	14. Chapter 14

Near Death Experience – Chapter 14

A/N: Conversations. This chapter is primarily a series of conversations between John and Joss, with some general narrative sprinkled in between. Bear will also appear and we will spend a little time with another character towards the end of the chapter.

Reese watched the winter sun set, throwing the loft into semi-darkness, lit only by the lights of the nearby buildings. Joss was curled up next to him, her small hands barely grazing his chest, brow slightly crinkled as if she was pondering a question, even as she slept.

While Joss was the one who was sleeping, Reese felt like he was the one who was dreaming, repeating those four words over and over again in his head as he gazed at her, a sweet, silent lullaby that caused his breathing to slow and his muscles to relax as if he had fallen asleep, even though he was wide awake.

_I love you, John._

He wanted to let her sleep, but he knew he couldn't.

Slipping quietly from the bed, Reese stepped into the kitchen, made a phone call and then returned to the main living area.

"Joss," he touched her hand. "Wake up."

Joss' eyes slowly opened and then she shot straight up, looking around the darkened space. "What time is it?"

"You're okay. When you're ready, I'll take you home."

Joss rolled her shoulders, then cocked an eyebrow at him. "So, did I snore, drool, spill that when I was twelve I wanted to marry El DeBarge*?"

"Nothing quite that scandalous, Detective." Reese smiled softly, handing Joss her phone. "No, you were silent, drool free…and beautiful, Joss."

Their eyes met, then Joss ducked her head and scooted off the bed. Reese walked into the bath, listening to the soft murmur of her voice as she called her son. He pulled out fresh towels from the linen closet, his comb and brush from a shelf in the medicine cabinet, then opened a container in the vanity and took out an unwrapped toothbrush, placing everything on the wide counter surrounding the sink. Stepping back out in the main space, Reese tilted his head towards the bath and Joss nodded, moving quietly past him.

Several minutes later she came back out, hair loose, face fresh, the jasmine scented lotion he had purchased for her wafting lightly through the air. He watched her walk over to the coffee table, take her earrings out of the little covered bowl and put them on.

Reese helped her into her coat, his hands lingering on her shoulders. Joss stood there for a moment, and then she stepped forward. They left the apartment, making their way to the concierge's office in the lobby.

Staffed round the clock, the employees were highly skilled, well trained and most importantly, extremely discreet. Reese had spoken to them less than a dozen times since he moved in. A resident who paid his maintenance fees months in advance, tipped generously, seldom asked for anything, and never, ever complained was a rare thing, so after an initial flurry of interest, they'd happily left him alone.

Reese suspected that the staff was aware that Joss had entered the building hours ago. Designed to look like just a plain metal key, indistinguishable from billions of others, the keys to the lofts were actually sophisticated electronic tools, individually set for the building and for each unit. You could control who, when and how long someone could access your apartment.

Reese had found several ways to bypass the system when he first moved in, and while he had eliminated the most glaring ones, he kept the rest of them to himself, ensuring that he would always be able to enter and leave the building undetected when he chose to.

The only other woman who had ever been in Reese's apartment was Maxine Angelis, and Reese had escorted her in. Joss was the first and only woman to not only enter his place on her own, but to use a key programmed specifically for her. When Finch had given Joss a key – and Reese knew he must have – his friend would have updated the system as well.

The concierge's eyes flickered appreciatively on Joss, then his face assumed the bland impersonal warmth of someone used to dealing with people and their problems all day long. Nodding to them both, he handed Reese a large insulated container. "Pad Thai, as requested."

Reese knew that Pad Thai was one of Taylor's favorites. Joss' lips quirked, but she didn't say anything, as Reese thanked him.

Reese led her to the parking garage, and they slipped into a sleek, yet non-descript vehicle.

"Sheila E.**," he said quietly.

Joss chuckled softly. "I can see that."

Reese smiled, but didn't say anything more.

They were silent as he drove to her neighborhood. While there were several empty spaces in front of Joss' building, without prompting, Reese pulled into a spot at the end of the block.

Joss opened the passenger door, the cold night air rushing in and swirling around them. Reese reached across her lap, intertwining the fingers of his right hand with hers. "Talk to you tomorrow, Joss."

She pressed her palm against his, hard, the sudden movement tender, bold and erotic, reminding him all too vividly how fiercely their bodies had claimed each other the night before. Reese closed his eyes, fighting the urge to lunge forward, pull the car door shut and take off with her. Joss slowly pulled her hand free, but just as their fingers parted, Reese opened his eyes and saw that her eyes were opening, too.

"Yeah. See you tomorrow, John."

Reese watched her walk away, her red coat a shimmering beacon in the darkness. He waited until she entered her building, then eased his car into the early evening traffic.

XXX

Talk.

The ultimate four letter word for some people.

You can show love, and you can show hate, without having to speak of it, but you cannot show talk.

You have to do it.

Ironically, for two people who had dedicated their lives, indeed prided themselves as being doers, rather than talkers, John Reese and Jocelyn Carter had talked from the very beginning.

But this was different.

They had created their own language before, a lexicon of sighs, and smirks, and shy glances, of banter, and flirting and snark. They had added to that language with the interrogation at Riker's and even with the vicious, heartrending exchange on that rusty, snow covered staircase.

But still, this was different.

The silence had almost destroyed them, so they knew they had to talk, wanted to talk, needed to talk.

And so slowly, carefully, as though they were making their way across a foreign land with only a few words and phrases between them, they began to talk.

XXX

It was as if nothing had changed, Joss thought. Almost.

She'd met John at some properly deserted location. He'd handed her a cup of coffee, made just the way she liked it. They'd talked about the things they'd always talked about, their voices slipping into that familiar rhythm, the dance between them that was always quicker, sharper, _better_ than it was with anyone else.

Joss was struck by how much she had missed this, the simple pleasure of just seeing him, watching how the light played with the sharp angles of his cheeks and nose and chin, the elegance of his large hands, the way that he seemed so relaxed, almost motionless, when she knew that in a second he could move with breathtaking speed. She had missed the purr of his voice, the way he smelled, a unique blend of soap, coffee and doughnuts, sprinkled with just a pinch of gunpowder. She had missed his smile.

She had missed the way he looked at her.

But eventually the talk slowed, as they knew it would and they sat there, sipping quietly, the steam alternately obscuring and then revealing their faces.

Fusco often made jokes about John's stoicism, calling him nicknames like Lockjaw, Marblehead and Stoneface, but Joss knew that John Reese could say more with a twitch of his lips or a raised eyebrow than any person she had ever known.

Like he was doing now.

His head was tilted slightly towards her. Waiting, knowing she had something to say.

She had fallen asleep so easily in his bed, had craved the heat of his body when their fingers intertwined in the car, had sat in the darkness on her couch for hours last night, turning the key to his apartment over and over in her hands, wanting, wanting, wanting him.

Joss knew that the inferno that had ignited that night in the freezing cold, would destroy them just as certainly as the silence between them almost had.

They would burn and burn and burn for each other, until there was nothing left.

"We can't be lovers, John. Not yet."

His eyelids flickered, long lashes fluttering against his pale skin.

She knew, and she knew that he knew, there were things that needed to be said, before they could truly be together.

After a long moment, John nodded.

"Talk to you tomorrow, John," she whispered.

"Yeah, see you tomorrow, Joss."

Joss placed the key Finch had given her on the bench and walked quickly away.

XXX

Despite the cold, they met outside as much as possible. Perhaps it was the memory of that cramped interrogation room, or the bloody twisted metal of Donnelly's car or even the long, narrow bridge where he caught them, but they craved open spaces, rooftops and parks and plazas, vacant lots along the river, places where they could see a wide vista, or as wide as you could in the city. When it rained or snowed, Reese brought a huge custom made umbrella, big enough for three people, or two people and a dog, as he often brought Bear with him.

Bear would pull on his leash and his nose would twitch in delight as they ventured down uneven paths and steep, broken stairs, spots that were off-limits in his walks with Finch, filled with snow and mud and deliciously icy puddles of water, plants struggling to throw off the last vestiges of winter and claim their place in the sun again, and on one moonlight night, a fox, silkily making his way past them, the ultimate stealth operative.

He learned Joss' first name during these walks and when Reese said it one day in the library, Bear leapt to his feet, grabbed his leash between his teeth and stood expectantly in front of Reese, ready to go.

Bear had always liked Joss, but now his brain associated these wonderful adventures with her. Reese would whisper the word 'Joss' in his ear and Bear would bark happily, claws scrabbling on the old wooden floors, and race towards the library's exit, almost as eager to see her as the man accompanying him.

XXX

"Why did she need you?"

Reese shrugged, gave her a slow smirk.

"Yeah, 'cause you're a badass." Joss smirked in reply. "But really, why did Stanton need _you_? She had Snow, she had the hard drive, she must have already selected her target, familiarized herself with its defenses. She had to have other ways of getting onto that floor, John."

Joss tilted her head at him, her brow crinkling. "So…why did she _want_ you there?"

There could be a million reasons, and none, Reese thought, as to why Kara really wanted him there. She'd known that he was in the city for months, known that Snow had tried to kill him, known about Joss. She'd tracked his movements closely enough to know exactly where he was that night, when she launched her attack.

Perhaps she'd simply wanted another body there to account for her presence. Perhaps she didn't think that Snow could deliver. Perhaps other options had fallen through.

Perhaps it was her contempt that instead of just following orders, he had hesitated, had tried to tell her about Snow's directive to eliminate her at Ordos, had been the Boy Scout, right to the very end.

Or perhaps it was just that he had the audacity to still be alive after she shot him.

Reese didn't answer, and for once, Joss didn't push, but the question lingered.

XXX

"You didn't kill him, Joss. You didn't pull the trigger."

"I know. But I do bear some responsibility for Donnelly's death, John."

"Joss –"

She held up her hand, stopping him. "I've accepted it, John." Joss looked across the river. She took a deep, shuddering breath, a raw, keening sound that rattled her small frame, one not of self-recrimination or guilt or shame, but of a simple sense of grief, a sadness that someone she had known, was gone.

Finally she turned to John and while his eyes were full of tears, her eyes were clear, and her voice was steady.

"I've also accepted that I'd do it again. It was the right thing to do, John. Sometimes…you have to live with doing the right thing as much as doing the wrong thing."

She didn't need to say more. She knew he understood, if not for himself, then at least for her.

He kissed her hand and they watched a flock of birds soar across the river until they faded from view.

XXX

Sometimes Reese would bring a ball and toss it to Bear while he and Joss talked. One day she held out her palm.

Reese raised an eyebrow.

Joss raised both of hers.

He handed her the ball.

It turned out that Joss had played on a number of different softball teams since she was a kid, right through her time at the Police Academy, including a game winning home run during a hotly contested match with the FDNY's Fire Academy team.

Reese could see her as a young girl, hair tightly plaited, body coiled like a spring as she prepared to steal another base – no artifice or guile, just sheer determination and the power of her will. She'd dive into base headfirst, knocking the opposing player over if she could, but also acknowledging them if she got beaten.

He wasn't surprised when she said that her position was shortstop.

Reese couldn't help staring at her smooth even throwing motion, the way her hair rippled in the breeze, the warm shimmer of her skin in the sunlight. Joss quickly mastered the Dutch commands, laughing out loud as Bear performed some incredible acrobatics catching her tosses, sometimes it seemed, Reese thought, just for her benefit.

She saw him watching her. "Don't tell me, I throw like a girl."

"A very good girl. I like it."

Bear would retrieve the ball and trot back over to them. His head would swivel back and forth, and then he would drop the ball on the ground, neatly between them.

XXX

"People have kids, John. I have a kid." Joss folded her arms as they left the rooftop. "Would you say the same thing to Fusco?"

Reese shook his head. "No," as they stepped in the freight elevator.

He watched her take a deep breath, saw that she was trying not to react. Slowly, Joss unfolded her arms and waited.

"Lionel wouldn't have done what you did, Joss," Reese said softly.

The elevator shuddered as it made its way down. Reese heard voices as they approached the next floor and he opened the control panel, swiftly overriding the controls, a string of muffled curses following them as they shot past.

She turned to look at him. "Did you know I had a child when you met me after you were shot, John?"

Reese's mind flashed back to that cool, clear morning. Finch's disapproving gaze when he left the library to meet her, the twinges from still healing wounds when he had to swerve to avoid colliding with someone who suddenly stopped in front of him on the sidewalk, the look in her eyes when he sat down across from her.

He remembered standing close enough behind her to smell her perfume, the brief touch of her skin when he handed her the phone, the pale lilac shirt he'd worn that day.

He remembered the little flutter, deep in his belly, when she told him that she wanted to know more.

Reese nodded slowly, "Yes."

"But that was okay, because it was about saving other people, right, John?" Her eyes flashed as she walked past him, yanking the straps and opening the front panel. "It wasn't okay when it was just about saving _you_."

Joss stepped out into the sunlight, shading her eyes from the sudden glare.

Reese didn't answer her. After a moment, she started walking away.

"See you tomorrow, Joss."

She didn't look back. "Yeah, talk to you tomorrow, John."

They didn't communicate for the rest of the day.

The next morning Reese went to the spot they had agreed to meet before they left the rooftop where Joss had helped him install some surveillance equipment yesterday. He'd brought Bear with him, and the dog stepped forward, wagging his tail, sensing Joss' presence before she exited the pedestrian tunnel, punctual as always.

Joss paused for a moment when she saw them. She nodded, just a tiny tilt of her chin and then she walked over to where they were standing on the deserted baseball diamond, the grass around the base paths glittering with frost.

"So does Bear know he's being used as…" her brow crinkled, "the animal version of a 'human shield', John?"

Joss put her arms around the dog, ruffling his fur.

"He hasn't complained – so far."

Joss straightened up, took a step back. "Day's still young."

One of the lapels on Joss' coat had gotten flipped up when she hugged Bear. Leaning forward across the space between them, Reese gently smoothed it down. Joss glanced at his hand and then her eyes met his. They stared at each other, silent, the whizzing sound of cars on the highway overhead the only sound around them.

"You did too much, Joss," Reese finally said.

Bear yawned. He lay down, resting his head on his paws.

"I'm always going to do too much, John. Sold the most Girl Scout cookies, collected the most money for UNICEF, handed in a twenty page paper when all they asked for was ten. That's not going to change, no matter how many times you tell -" her voice softened. "You would have done the same for me."

"That's different, Joss."

"It's not, but I'm not going to convince you of that today, and this guy," she looked down at Bear, "needs his walk."

As they fell in step together, Joss said, "It's not that you're special. I just like to do my best."

"I'll keep that in mind, Detective."

"You do that."

XXX

"So either way, Snow wanted you both dead. Shot or blown to bits." She tilted her head at Reese. "Think he watched the aerial footage of that cruise missile drop over and over?"

Reese smiled thinly. "With popcorn and soda…and his hand between his legs."

Joss shook her head, her lips twitching. "Maybe later. He wasn't much of a multi-tasker."

She leaned back on the park bench. "Thanks…for telling me what you could." He watched her slender hands smooth her coat over her knees. "You were with her a long time, John."

Reese looked at her sharply. "Stanton was my partner, Joss. You make it sound like –"

"What it was." She turned her body fully towards his. "How much of what you couldn't tell me that day in the coffee shop was about your relationship with her?"

Reese raised his face towards the sky, covered in steel gray clouds. "I don't know, Joss." He slowly turned his body towards hers, looking into her dark questioning eyes. "If I had said something that day…" he imagined a cascade of different actions, different outcomes.

"I think…what happened would have happened, John. She wanted to take you. She wanted to kill Donnelly." Her voice was soft. "She should have killed me too, John."

"Snow said that she left you alive to take as a hostage later, if I wasn't cooperating."

Joss nodded slowly, taking that piece of information in. "So, a lot of planning, and a lot of moving parts. All to get you on that floor."

XXX

"Taylor has his smile." Joss said quietly as they stood at the crosswalk.

Reese forced himself not to react, waiting for Joss to say something more. She had never spoken of her husband directly, referring to him obliquely, like when they had a brief conversation while on a stake out months ago.

The convention center was hosting a huge city-wide scholastic music event, and the streets and sidewalks were full of people streaming towards the main auditorium. They blended seamlessly into the crowd, filled mostly with families, as they tracked their quarry, a balding middle-aged man.

"When Taylor was a baby, he never wanted to sleep – so much energy. But anytime that boy was in a car – boom, lights out…my husband would ride him around the block until he fell asleep."

"Bet he gave up some good parking spots – must have been love."

Joss laughed. "Yeah, he did!" she smiled softly. "And it was. He'd walk up the block with Taylor sleeping peacefully in his arms, with that grin on his face. I'd want to fuss at him, but I couldn't." Her eyes lingered on a father carrying his son on his shoulders. "He would be so proud of Taylor."

"You ever wonder how things could have been different, Joss?"

"In the beginning I did, but that kept me from remembering the good things. I decided - I _had,_ to focus on that."

"So every time Taylor smiles…"

She nodded. "Yeah."

They watched the man approach a tall, angular looking woman near the entrance to the auditorium. She looked surprised to see him, but then he opened his arms and she stepped into them. The couple hugged and kissed as though they hadn't seen each other for an eternity, even though they had just seen each other the night before.

When she tried to kill him.

"I can't believe he went back to her. She's tried to kill him – four times!" Joss hissed, as they watched the couple, music department heads for competing arts academies, enter the building hand in hand. "Next time, get Fusco. I am on the 'Do Not Call' list for those two."

"Where's your sense of romance, Detective? He said she's the love of his life. Of course, in his case, 'life' could be a relative term." John smirked, as they followed the crowd in.

"A mayfly's*** got a better life expectancy than he does, John." She clipped on the forged credential he handed her and they made their way past security.

They watched the couple take their seats in a section reserved for faculty and administrators. He'd be safe during the concert, but Finch had found out that they were both competing for the same prestigious award that was going to be awarded tonight – and that he was going to win it. "You believe in a love of your life, Joss?"

"You mean like some 'great love'?"

John shrugged.

"No. That's like saying one love is better than another, like you're rating them." She stopped, as the crowd surged around them. "I think when you love somebody, you love 'em."

They watched the couple kiss again. "Even if you're a mayfly, Joss?" Reese touched the small of her back, guiding her to seats a few rows behind the loving couple.

The man's head jerked slightly as he saw them out of the corner of his eye. He paled, but then resolutely put his arm around his wife.

"Especially if you're a mayfly, John," Joss said as they sat down. "They have to live a whole lifetime in one day."

XXX

They were careful about how they touched each other, like teens who had signed a purity pledge, as they sometimes directly and bluntly, other times shyly and hesitantly, peeled back the layers they had built around themselves and the feelings they had for each other.

Bear added to his talents by becoming an excellent chaperone, skillfully inserting himself between Reese and Joss, his keen senses noting when there was a subtle change in their voices, a difference in the way they moved towards each other, perhaps even a chemical shift in the air. He would become very protective of Joss, placing his head on her knee, his back to Reese, tail beating against his legs as though he was batting him away. She would lean forward, ruffling his fur, his ears swiveling back and forth as she whispered silly things to him.

Reese began bringing her food, crusty breads, tart marmalades, creamy custards, all created with his own hands. Joss would lie in bed, thinking of those long fingers kneading her flesh, until her thighs were slick and trembling. Reese would stand in the shower, imagining swirling confections disappearing between her full lips, until he stumbled in the stall, his shout echoing off the glistening, splattered tiles.

"When?" he asked quietly one day, intertwining her fingers with his. A sudden driving downpour had forced them to seek shelter in an old boathouse. The rain rattled the metal roof and flashes of lightening illuminated the small boats, waxed and gleaming, while they rested quietly in their racks.

"We'll know when," she replied softly.

They held hands until the rain stopped.

XXX

"Jesus, Joss! You just don't know when to quit!"

Reese jumped up from the bench and started pacing, the sound of his heels crunching in the snow. "Getting choked and almost flattened like a pancake wasn't enough? You wanted to get blown up as well? Snow was in that vest for how long, Joss, and he couldn't get out of it. You knew that. Finch –" he paused, closing his eyes, thinking about her being choked, getting arrested, her scream as her flesh was cut by twisted metal.

He thought about how she must have felt lying there, half conscious, unable to move, hearing Donnelly being shot.

Waiting to die.

Reese turned and faced her. "Harold didn't go through what you did, Joss."

An arctic blast had descended on the city. Even with the bright lights, the sky was full of stars and the air was so cold and clear, it hurt your lungs. Joss looked past him and Reese realized that from the safe house's garden terrace, high above the city, she could see 780 Mercer.

"You didn't know Harold was there." He saw her shoulders hunch, arms sliding over her stomach as though she was hugging herself. "Did you want to die, John?"

Reese squatted down in front of her, looked into her eyes. "I told Harold that it was my past catching up with me. I expected it, deserved it, but no, Joss," Reese knew with a sudden searing clarity, "I didn't want to die."

Her eyes searched his face, then she nodded, her shoulders slowly relaxing. "Maybe I couldn't have defused that bomb, I don't know, John. But I do know, that if I couldn't, that if I'd had to walk away, before…I wanted you to know that you weren't alone."

He drew her hands away from her stomach, enclosing them in his. "I think…I knew that Joss, from the moment I met you."

She nodded. "Yeah."

XXX

"Why did you cut me out of your life?"

Joss had wanted to meet here. Reese leaned against the bridge, his eyes on the Manhattan skyline. The place where Donnelly had captured them looked the same, clean, spare and untouched, right down to the non-functioning surveillance cameras.

"I said that you did too much, Joss, but I wanted too much. I've always wanted too much from you."

She stood beside him, the collar of her red coat turned up against the cold. "So you just swooped in, took over my life, is that it? Did you stop me from being a mother, a daughter, a friend? Did you ever stop me from living the life that I wanted, John?"

Reese turned to look at her, not bothering to keep the skepticism out of his voice. "You saying that your life isn't different now, Joss? That you don't look at the world differently?"

She turned, her voice soft, yet clear and determined. "My choice. You don't make my decisions, John. Even if those decisions are about you."

Reese nodded slowly. He knew he'd struggle with it, but he'd started to make his peace with it. "Ok."

Joss abruptly turned toward the skyline. "Thank you, for agreeing to meet me here. I tried before to come back –" her voice caught, her hand brushing a tear away.

Reese put his arms around her and he held her for a long time.

XXX

"So…a former CIA operative turned rogue, hiring himself out to the highest bidder. A lone, obsessed FBI agent trying to bring him to justice. A manhunt across the streets of New York City. Murder, a private intelligence network, shadowy government agencies, a car wreck, bombs. It would have been a good story, John."

Reese smirked. "I'd watch it."

She gave him that look. "The book would be better."

He made a face.

Joss sighed, rolling her eyes. "_Okay_, graphic novel. I'll read it to you while you look at the pictures."

"Only if you tuck me in, Detective," Reese smiled. "And kiss me good night."

Reese watched the corners of her mouth turn up slightly as she sipped her coffee.

They sat there quietly for a while, and then Joss' brow crinkled. "The thing is, John, if it had worked, it would have tied everything up in a neat package. 'The Man in a Suit' would have been exposed and eliminated at the same time. All those rumors about a mysterious good guy helping people –" she waved her hand "- gone. You'd be blamed for everything Donnelly accused you of, and a hell of a lot more."

Joss tilted her head at him. "How much damage would those bombs have caused in a DoD facility like that?"

"It was a top level, top security facility, super reinforced floors and walls, extra shielding to protect it against cyber attacks, the works…" Reese thought for a moment. "The one thing unusual about it was its location – most of them are underground or on lower floors due to all the systems and cabling. Even with the extra thick walls, ceiling and floor, an explosion would have been seen, felt and heard."

She nodded. "The rest of the building was evacuated due to the bomb threat, so the appropriate groups had already been notified. Any casualties would have been on that floor – the DoD would have spent most of its time trying to cover up what Stillwater Imports was really doing. Throw in the CIA, FBI, ATF, NYPD, FDNY, Homeland Security, the Mayor's Office –"

"A multi-agency, multi-departmental stew – "

"And whatever Kara Stanton's mission was," Joss' eyes flickered over Reese, "would have been covered up or might even had gone undetected." Her voice softened, "Donnelly would have been the only one asking questions – the only one with enough information to ask the _right_ questions – he had to go. And after my value as a potential hostage went, I would have been next. No loose ends."

_We're not walking in the dark. We are the dark.****_

_Kara knew, when I drew Carter out weeks ago, that she was somehow important to you – knew I wouldn't have risked it otherwise._

A chill went through Reese's body as he realized the full extent of Kara's plan.

He took both of their coffee cups, placing them on the ground. "Kara wouldn't have killed you, Joss."

She shook her head. "That makes no sense, John. I would have known what happened, I could -"

He leaned forward, taking her hands in his. "What would you have known, Joss? What could you have done?"

Reese watched the different emotions fly across her face, at first anger, then disbelief, then a cold, hard realization. "Kara Stanton was declared dead – Finch showed me the paperwork. I wouldn't have any proof that she was alive, much less that she killed Donnelly or engineered this whole thing. Snow stole the hard drive, the ATF guys were incredibly vague about who attacked them and any surviving DoD staffers would have been shipped to some 'undisclosed location'. I couldn't reveal that I was in the car with Donnelly, and if I said the wrong thing or tried to make waves, I'd risk not only implicating myself, but Fusco, too."

She gave a mirthless chuckle. "Even if we worked with Finch and somehow found her, what could we do – turn her over to the CIA? They'd kill her and probably kill us, too."

Joss closed her eyes for a moment, then met his again. "She wanted me to live with it – not just that you were dead, but that she poisoned every good thing that you'd done since you came here. She wanted to destroy you."

Reese nodded, remembering all of Kara's living victims, the ones she had embarrassed, humiliated and savaged, but also the audience, the ones who had to watch. "A witness."

He felt her hands tighten into fists. "A witness who couldn't testify, couldn't talk, couldn't _do_ anything."

Jocelyn Carter, the girl, the woman who always did too much, forced to do nothing. She would have been haunted by it.

"When Snow contacted you, Kara realized that you were important to me, Joss."

Her eyes suddenly had a soft light in them, and she intertwined her fingers with his. "No…she realized that you were starting to heal, John, you were starting to heal."

XXX

Joss handed him a small envelope. Standing up on her toes, she cupped his face. Reese leaned forward, closing his eyes as her warm lips touched his cheek. She walked away without looking back.

Reese lifted the flap on the envelope and pulled out a photograph, the colors as vivid and bright as they were the day it was taken. He felt the back of his thighs hit cold metal and realized that somehow, his body had guided him to the park bench and he was sitting down. A flood of emotions ran through his body, pinning him there, until the park was swathed in darkness.

XXX

It was just before the dinner hour and people were starting to stream into the suburban mall's sprawling food court. Intent on either getting to the front of the line at their eatery of choice or grabbing a table, the shoppers paid no attention to Reese, who had resurrected his suburban uniform from the back of his closet. He waved to the blonde haired woman who rushed in, standing up as she approached his table.

"I'm so sorry I'm late!" she cried, breathlessly. "There was a fender bender on the way in, that snarled up traffic. Thank goodness, nobody was hurt."

"Not a problem, ma'am." Reese smiled as they shook hands and then sat down. He'd seen photos of Jessica's mother Sharon in her apartment, but they had never met.

Her eyes scanned him curiously. "You said you knew my daughter, that you had something that belonged to her."

Reese nodded. He had called her the night before, and after convincing her that he wasn't some crackpot or trying to sell her something, they had agreed to meet here. "I came across it recently. I thought you might like to have it." He handed her the envelope.

She opened the flap, pulling out the photo of that long ago trip to Mexico. "_Ohhhh…_" Her hand covered her mouth as she gazed at the photo, then her eyes, shining with tears, met his. "You're the soldier Jessie was involved with."

Reese nodded.

"You loved my daughter."

"Very much."

Her fingers ran over the photograph. "_Thank you._ Thank you _so_ much." She smiled, and in that moment, Reese saw in her face, the woman he once loved.

As he stood to leave, she touched his hand. "Do you have someone, someone to go home to?"

Reese nodded. Someone strong, beautiful, smart, passionate, sexy, stubborn, kind, infuriating, proud, loyal, dedicated, headstrong, tireless, loving.

"I can tell that she's special."

_Brave_. In so many, many ways, he thought.

Reese smiled. "She's…the bravest person I've ever known."

She nodded, curling her fingers around his. "Jessie would want you to be happy."

He squeezed her hand. "Thank you."

Reese walked quickly out of the mall and drove back to the city, the traffic light as all the commuters were heading out of town. He reached Joss' street in record time, calling her as he rounded the corner, double-parking and then racing up her building's front stairs.

She stepped out on the landing, dressed in a t-shirt, sweats and fuzzy slippers, her coat hanging loosely around her shoulders. Her hair was scraped back, her face was makeup free and she had a dusting of flour on her chin.

She had never looked more beautiful. "John, I can't –"

"I know." It was Taylor's turn to host the monthly pizza dinner for his debate club; her place was full, with kids, parents and the faculty advisor. Reese crushed her against his body, just wanting to hold her, wanting to feel the warmth of her skin, the smell of her hair, the strength of her small hands as they slid inside his coat and up his back.

She raised her face to his, her eyes huge, shining in the darkness. He rubbed the flour off her chin with his finger and kissed her. Joss sank against him, and Reese knew that she was as lost in him as he was in her.

They stood there for a moment, wrapped in each other arms, and then they stepped apart. "I love you."

Joss smiled through her tears. "I know. See you tomorrow, John."

"Yeah, talk to you tomorrow, Joss."

She slipped back inside the building.

Reese walked back to his car. He sat there, smiling, until he heard a horn behind him, and then he pulled into traffic.

XXX

"There are still things you don't know," John said abruptly as Joss stood up to leave. His voice had a lilt to it, almost challenging, but his eyes were wary and solemn.

Joss smiled. "You know that's detective porn. It's like putting a hot fudge sundae in front of me with _two_ cherries on top, handing me a big ol' spoon and then telling me that I can't touch it." Her smile faded as she sat back down on the park bench. "I know."

The wind swirled her hair around her face and as she pushed it back, her fingers touched an earring. One day she would have to tell him the story about these earrings, Joss thought. He wouldn't call them 'bore-rings' after learning how she got them. "There are things that you don't know about me."

Joss smiled to herself at the brief calculating look she saw in his eyes, before his face became smooth, almost expressionless. The dance, she thought, would always be a part of them.

"Really, Detective?"

"Really."

"And if…"

"We'll figure it out. We don't…do well apart, John. We're better together."

They both stood up. John leaned forward, placing his forehead against hers. "I love you, Joss."

"I love you, John."

As their lips met, Joss knew that they would be together soon.

The time before had been about their lust, their loneliness, their need. It had been about claiming each other in the most primal way possible. This time would be about passion, tenderness, love. They would give each other everything, including their very souls.

It would be the real first time.

As they stepped apart, Joss looked into John's eyes. She knew he knew it too.

"Talk to you tomorrow, Joss."

"Yeah, see you tomorrow, John."

She closed the historical society's garden gate carefully behind her.

*El DeBarge and his family group, named DeBarge, had several hits during the early 1980s, like All This Love (1982), but my main reason for choosing him as someone a teenaged Joss might have had a crush on was his big hit as a solo artist, _Who's Johnny_, the theme from the movie _Short Circuit_ (1986.) The song included the lyrics _'Who's Johnny, she says and tried to look the other way/Her eyes gave her away'. _In light of Donnelly telling Joss and John that her eyes gave the game away, he was the perfect choice.

**Sheila E was a member of Prince's group and a solo artist, who had several hits during the early 1980s, including _The Glamorous Life_ (1984.) A drummer, an instrument traditionally ascribed to men, made her a standout. I could see a teenaged Reese being quietly intrigued by this talented, tough looking beauty and her skillful hands.

***Mayflies are aquatic insects. As adults, they live for only a few hours or a day, usually hatching en masse in the spring to mate, and they mean business - both the male and female have paired genitalia – two penises for the male and two gonopores, or genital pores for the females.

****Kara said this to Reese in the Season One episode, _Blue Code_.

A/N: Next, the FBI meets the fixer, and in Chapter 16, a fable, a ceremony and the real first time.


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: The FBI meets the fixer. This chapter is from Agent Moss' and Zoe Morgan's POV

"Moss. A moment, please."

He looked calm, but Brian Moss saw the little tic barely twitching in the corner of his left eye. His boss was furious.

Moss excused himself and followed him to a small office down the hall.

The cause of his boss' fury was a woman standing by a window overlooking a sunken courtyard. She turned smoothly as they walked in, calm and unruffled.

"Agent Brian Moss," his director said, sliding behind the desk. "This is Zoe Morgan. She represents John Warren, the man who was allegedly assaulted at Rikers."

Moss nodded. She was coldly beautiful, the kind of woman you thought would just lay there in bed, but there was a spark there that hinted at a different personality under the elegant persona.

He wondered how she had gotten in here, much less knowing where they were.

Periodically their area director would have closed door sessions off-site with the senior agents – they would have candid discussions about current cases, directives from DC, personnel problems – whatever was hot.

This time the location was an empty office complex in midtown – a fact only known to a few key office staffers – yet somehow Ms. Morgan had tracked them down, bypassed security and gotten his boss to leave the meeting without anyone knowing she was in the building.

She didn't look like an attorney - perhaps she was a media representative, alerting them that some massive news conference about the multi-million dollar lawsuit her client had just filed against the FBI was going to be held shortly.

"Agent Moss," Moss sensed she already knew quite a bit about him. "As I explained to your director, my client is not interested in suing. He's asked me to broker another solution to this problem."

She sat in the guest chair and Moss knew that even though his boss had taken the position of authority behind the desk, she was the one in charge.

Ah. Moss knew what she was. A fixer, one of those shadowy people who take care of matters their clients don't want made public. He'd dealt with a few before, but not one like this – this one swam with the sharks, the real power in the city.

He would love to have a drink with her, ask her what her boundaries were. Did she have a moral code? What things _wouldn't_ she fix for a client – abuse, molestation, rape, murder?

He'd never get to ask those questions, he knew.

He'd never even register with someone like her, much less get her to sit down with him for a drink.

Moss knew what his role was. He would be saying the things his director couldn't. "Can we speak frankly, Ms. Morgan?"

"Of course." She leaned back in her chair and crossed her long legs. "All of this is just a conversation between friends."

"From what I understand, your client is a well-regarded, upstanding citizen. He was handcuffed, dragged out of that bank in front of dozens of people, held for days without legal counsel, interrogated for hours and then beaten within an inch of his life – a beating that was orchestrated by a member of this office. Why wouldn't he sue our pants off?"

Her eyes leisurely scanned him from head to toe – yes, this one would be interesting in bed. "But you've just said why, Agent Moss. My client is very committed to his work, you might say it's a…" she smiled softly, "calling. It requires the utmost discretion and the absolute confidence of his clients. Even though he was completely innocent, I think you understand that even the slightest hint that he had spent some time as a guest of the city, no matter how unjustified, would impact his work negatively and ultimately affect the people he wants to help."

She leaned forward slightly as if she was sharing some wonderful secret. "We all know how this works, don't we, gentlemen? Even though the Bureau is clearly in the wrong, your bureaucracy will go into seek and destroy mode to protect the agency. I understand it's already underway – evidence has disappeared, prisoners have been transferred, the warden got a fantastic job offer five states away and that's just the beginning.

"My client will be attacked, vilified; falsehoods will be spread about him. He'll be linked to the other men that were taken into custody – all murderers by the way - and with two of them dead and one on trial for his life, he won't be able to dispute the allegations. 'Witnesses' will come forward and claim that _he_ caused the attack. The press will hound him. It will be relentless and the only ones who will benefit are the lawyers and the media. My client would receive a settlement, eventually, but the life he has now, would be over."

Moss stood impassively. He knew she was correct; he'd already seen it in the way Donnelly's death was being handled, as though he had never set foot in the NY Bureau's offices, much less worked there – that same bureaucracy would try to grind Warren into dust. Clearly if Warren could engage someone like her, he had resources to fight back, but it would be long, drawn out and ugly – nobody would win. "But you _are_ here for a reason, Ms. Morgan. What does your client want?"

"He wants your office to make a donation -

His boss rose out of his chair, outraged. "A _donation_? You mean a _payoff_! This is the FBI, not some borough councilman you're trying to shake down, Ms. Morgan!"

She continued, as though he had not interrupted. "- the monies to come from a 'discretionary' account. I believe you call it the Butler fund."

The director slumped in his chair, his mouth hanging wide open.

Moss raised an eyebrow. Shit. _How_ did she know about _that_?

The Butler fund was the result of a botched department reorganization last year. Monies had been set aside for a major investigation into a financier, Joseph Butler, that never came to fruition. During the department reorganization, there was a mix up with departmental account numbers. The money was never put in the proper budget bucket and had just sat there, unaccounted for and unnoticed for months.

Moss had stumbled onto the fund recently, after the fiasco of Donnelly's memorial service. Some genius in accounting, apparently not aware that Donnelly was dead, balked at approving the expenses for the service out of the general administrative bucket, saying that the agent's accounts should pay for it.

After Moss, patiently, calmly, methodically explained several times via email, phone and finally in person, that Donnelly had died, he got the expenses approved, but it gnawed at him. All the other traces of Donnelly in the New York office had been quickly erased as though the man never existed. Why hadn't the accounts?

Mystified, Moss did a review on his own and found the Butler fund. Since the late FBI agent had been in an administrative no man's land - still on Boston's personnel roster, but with budgetary privileges within NY - the director had hidden the money there; Moss also suspected that his boss had orchestrated the whole set up, relying on Donnelly's obsession with the elusive Man in a Suit to keep him unaware of a scheme happening under his very nose.

The fund was used for activities that the director would be hard pressed to explain to his superiors – campaign donations, grants, sponsorships – advancing the Bureau's New York office's profile in the city's power structure and of course, enhancing his own social and ultimately, political position.

While the director had spent a great deal of it, there was still a sizable amount of money left.

When Moss confronted the director, he found out that his boss had implicated several senior staffers, including Moss, by making it seem as though they were participants in his scheme, and indeed Moss noted that he had been getting better cooperation from several movers and shakers in the city as of late. He thought it was because of his accomplishments – now it turned out that their cooperation had been bought and paid for.

Reeling, Moss was still trying to figure out how to deal with what he'd discovered – finding out that an outsider knew what his director had done was stunning.

The room was very quiet. Ms. Morgan sat there as if she had just commented on the weather, not that she knew a secret that would bring the New York FBI office to its knees, ruin careers and possibly get his superior thrown in jail.

"Agreed." Moss said.

"Now, wait just a minute," the director sputtered, "You can't –"

"I can," Moss shot back. "Unless you want to be tonight's top news story, Director. I'm sure Ms. Morgan has a media package already prepared."

The fixer ran her long fingers over the clasp of her briefcase. "The funds disappear and no one's the wiser, Director. Your _payoffs_ have bought quite a bit of good will already. I'm confident you can garner the rest on your own."

The director's eyes glinted. "You'd let her get away with this, Moss?"

Moss smiled grimly. "I'm letting _you_, Director, get away with it. Better that, than ruining the careers of the good agents that you've dragged into this mess."

"And if it gets out? Your coworkers may survive, but you'll go down for it, with me."

Moss knew that if somehow this came out, he would be implicated, not just for the cover up, but also for his boss' original scheme. He was willing to take the chance. "But I won't go down alone, Director."

He watched as the director looked out at that sunken courtyard. Finally his boss nodded, stood and stalked out of the office.

Moss let out the breath that he just realized he'd been holding. "So, does Warren want this 'donation' made out to him, Ms. Morgan?"

The fixer looked disappointed. "_Brian_…no. He wants it donated to a cause we all can feel good about."

She explained what her client wanted.

The fixer took a tablet out of her briefcase. Moss picked up the chair from the behind the desk, placed it next to Ms. Morgan and sat down. Everything was already prepared – background on the organization, photos, mockups of press releases, the works. Over the next thirty minutes, they tweaked the materials and the agent made several phone calls.

Finally they nodded at each other, satisfied with the arrangements. Moss held out his hand. The fixer raised an eyebrow, her lips twitching, then extended her own hand and they shook.

As he escorted her out of the building, Moss asked, "How did you know to ask for me?"

"A friend of mine heard from a reliable source that you were a good agent, that you'd try to make things right – and you did." She smiled, a real smile, he saw, one that softened her face.

In that moment, Moss felt a connection with her. "Would you like to have a drink sometime?"

She looked surprised, he noted, not that he had asked her, but because he could see that she was actually considering it. "You want to ask me a few questions, perhaps take me to bed…You might not like the answers to your questions, Brian, and I…at least for a little while, want something more than a quick fuck."

Moss watched her walk across the sunken courtyard. She spoke with a tall dark haired man – John Warren, he presumed. Moss raised an eyebrow – perhaps he should have a drink with _him_ – the conversation was bound to be fascinating.

As Moss watched them talk, out of the corner of his eye he caught a flash of red suddenly appearing at the far side of the courtyard.

The reliable source.

Moss smiled to himself. He had her pegged correctly. Detective Jocelyn Carter was very, very smart.

He turned and went back upstairs to the meeting.

XXX

As Zoe walked out into the courtyard, she heard a noise behind her. She had walked right past John Reese without realizing he was there. Zoe smiled as she turned around – she knew that John had made a noise as a courtesy to her, not because he was losing his touch.

"John."

"Zoe."

"It's a pretty sizable donation, John. You sure you want it all to go to one place?"

"They deserve it." He raised an eyebrow. "Your fee?"

"You have some funds in your account, that I think will handle it. And the list of who received the Director's payoffs will come in handy, I'm sure." Zoe looked at him closely. He looked good, not as thin as before and the circles under his eyes were gone.

"Thank you." His eyes went past her. For a moment Zoe saw his face relax, become almost peaceful, then resume that impassive exterior she was so familiar with.

Zoe didn't need to turn around.

The detective. The little detective.

He touched her hand and walked away.

Zoe couldn't help herself, she had to see them together. The detective looked good, too. Those bangs were gone and she had an absolutely stunning red coat on, a coat that said rip off my clothes and fuck my brains out. And perhaps he had.

John stood close to her for a moment and the detective's body curved just slightly towards his. Even though they weren't touching, Zoe could see something emanating from both of them, rising and swirling together – something fierce and strong and incredibly powerful.

With her finely honed survivor's instincts, Zoe pitied anyone who tried to come between them.

The detective nodded to her and then the two of them walked away.

Yes, some day, somehow, some _way_, Zoe vowed, she and Jocelyn Carter were going to have a talk.

A/N: Next, a fable, a ceremony and the real first time (yeah, yeah, I know, it's _about_ time!) and in Chapter 17, we catch up with some POIs – Persons, and Pets, of Interest.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

A/N: A ceremony and the real first time. We open with a general narrative and then the rest of the story is primarily from John and Joss' POV. We'll also spend some time with a character that we met several chapters ago.

[The fable didn't make the cut – it was too long, and ultimately didn't add all that much to this story. I loved it – there were swords and nakedness - so at some point it will be reworked, perhaps as one of John's Scarf dreams.]

After the smoke had literally and figuratively cleared around 780 Mercer, there was still a problem.

John Warren.

Stanton and Snow were dead, Donnelly had been memorialized, the FBI had closed the case on The Man in a Suit, and several other players had been killed, put on trial, transferred or offered new jobs. The various departments and agencies involved had done their best to recast, reframe or reject their involvement in the string of events that had begun with an explosion under a bank.

They were all ready to move on.

Except for the problem of John Warren.

The problem wasn't that he was innocent – unfortunately, innocent people get swept up in the system all the time. Usually they would slip away, knowing how lucky they were to make their escape and were never heard from again, or if they did make some noise, they would get tripped up in revelations of their own past transgressions and ultimately become a media punch line, pathetically trying to shop their story to a non-existent audience.

No, John Warren was a problem, because he had attributes and resources that Riker's guests normally don't have. He was well educated, well-heeled and well spoken. He could unleash an army of litigators, investigators and media representatives. He could ask questions that would be difficult to answer.

They wanted to deal with John Warren, take their lumps, minimize the damage and move on.

But no one had heard a peep from Warren or a representative of his.

They couldn't approach Warren. To approach him would imply culpability, give him leverage and expose vulnerabilities, so they waited.

And as the days and weeks went on without a quiet inquiry, an initial filing or a veiled threat, they began to worry. They knew how to react, realign and respond, but what do you do when there was nothing to react, realign and respond _to?_

So you can imagine their relief when word began to circulate, followed by discreet visits from Warren's representative, a woman with whom they had dealt with on delicate matters before, that an agreement had been reached. There would be no lawsuit, no front page exposés, no media circus or departmental reviews.

Warren had gotten what he wanted and they had gotten what they wanted.

(Well, one person didn't get what he wanted, but he was told bluntly and in no uncertain terms by the real people who run the city, to shut up and take it.)

And everyone would be able to move on.

The last vestiges of his stay at Rikers were deleted, erased or relocated to Missouri, and the name John Warren not only vanished from their collected consciousness, it was as though he had never existed.

XXX

There were the usual politicians, dignitaries, government officials, news media and even a few celebrities milling about the event at Carl Schurz Park*.

But the true stars were the dogs.

The park is one the most canine friendly spots in New York City, with two dog runs and a wide waterfront promenade for daily walks. Many of those pampered pooches, cuddled by indulgent owners or bedecked in bright costumes were in the crowd that watched the ceremony unfolding on the lawn of the Mayor's official residence, Gracie Mansion**.

For once there was no barking or yelping, no twirling around in circles or squirming in their owners' arms. They were quiet and still, perhaps sensing that the proud creatures being honored today, while fellow canines, had lived lives very different from theirs.

These dogs had shivered in the cold, sweltered in the heat, been wounded and watched loved ones die. They had trekked through vast deserts, climbed jagged mountains and swum swollen rivers. They had served all over the world, had saved lives, had sheltered shattered bodies and comforted broken hearts.

They had formed lifelong bonds with their fellow soldiers.

Now they were coming home.

While dogs have performed valiantly in the nation's armed forces, they are currently classified as equipment. Once they have been determined as no longer fit or needed for duty, they do not qualify for post service care, or even transportation back to the United States. Separated from their human partners, these dogs face uncertain, lonely and often dangerous futures. Legislation has been introduced to reclassify the dogs as "canine members of the armed forces", but the bills are currently wending their way slowly and intermittently through the halls of Congress, while the dogs and the people who care about them, wait.***

The six dogs being honored today had been transported back to the US, provided with lifetime veterinary coverage, a monthly stipend for food and other supplies for their care, and reunited with their human partners who stood behind them, unashamedly letting tears of joy stream down their faces.

All of this had been made possible by the Donnelly/KARA (K-9 Air Rescue and Assistance) Fund. Those dogs who could not be reunited with their human partners would be placed with families eager to take them into their homes and into their hearts; any too injured or traumatized to be placed would live out their days in peace and comfort.

The placement service and the long term care facility would be at a private animal shelter near CIA Headquarters in Langley, Virginia.

As the Mayor recounted tales of the service, devotion and heroism of these human and animal veterans, two women stood arm in arm behind him, smiling through their tears.

They were both stunningly different, stunningly beautiful, and many in the crowd couldn't help staring at them.

One was tall and slender, her snow white hair swirling around her face. Her skin was pale and her cheeks were rosy in the brisk air. One was shorter and curvier, her raven locks swept up in a sleek chignon. Her skin was dark and her cheeks glowed in the sunlight. One's coat was red, while the other's was blue, and they both shimmered like the rarest, most precious jewels.

The one thing they had in common were their large brown eyes, and while one kept hers on the honorees and the speakers, the other one, while attentive to the ceremony, would occasionally scan the crowd, as though she was waiting for someone to appear.

XXX

He hadn't loved her.

Reese knew that, knew that clearly and honestly, without any hesitation or second thoughts.

The Machine had actually given them a number last night, and while everything had concluded successfully, he'd been delayed. Reese could hear the muffled sounds of someone speaking via a microphone, as he entered the park.

Zoe had done well. The media coverage leading up to today's event had been quiet and understated for once, letting the natural emotions flow instead of manufacturing or hyping them up.

With stern oversight from Harold, Leon Tao had invested the money obtained from the FBI wisely and conservatively. The small staff, comprised almost entirely of veterans, had gelled quickly. After today, the Fund would work behind the scenes, partnering with various public and private groups until it was no longer newsworthy or a novelty. It would be just another good group, making good things happen.

As he headed toward the ceremony that was already well underway, Reese let his mind consider the woman that he was, as Joss had stated so simply yet so eloquently, with a long time.

Days, weeks, months, years, often 24/7. Reese had been intimate with Kara Stanton in a way that few people would want, understand or could even imagine. An intimacy bred, born and nurtured in an environment full of violence, secrets, betrayals and death.

Reese understood her rage at the agency, at Snow, at him – he wasn't angry or bitter about it. He would never forgive what she had tried to do to Joss, but he understood why she did it.

Snow was right when he said that both Reese and Kara were damaged goods, and while Kara was definitely twisted and broken, she had never been lost, until Ordos. Even if her plan had succeeded, Reese wondered if she would have survived much longer after that. Without a belief, a mission, a _purpose_ – what did Kara have, where could she go, what would she become then?

No, he hadn't loved Kara, but Reese admitted to himself that he hadn't hated her either.

He'd cared about her and he'd had to forgive himself for that.

As he walked along, Reese thought about what he wanted to remember about Kara.

The woman who was a true believer, who was highly accomplished and fiercely intelligent, who was sharp and witty.

The woman who was a keen strategist, who was a fierce fighter, who had saved his life more than once.

The woman who loved animals, whose favorite color was blue, who made amazing sauces.

The woman who touched his cheek, before she left him to die.

Today, he would remember her, one last time.

XXX

Stella Donnelly O'Connor squeezed Detective Jocelyn Carter's hand as she stepped up to the podium.

The largest crowd she had ever spoken to was at her church, but she wasn't nervous. She believed in what she was going to say and she knew that if she was overcome by emotion, the beautiful, bright and brave human and animal faces around her would give her courage she needed.

Like many women of her generation, she had married young, had provided a loving home not only for herself and her husband, but also for her siblings and their families. Stella and her husband had never been blessed with children, but their home was the place that family congregated for holiday dinners, birthday parties, celebrations and remembrances. As her husband's career flourished and her nieces and nephews grew up and scattered around the globe, Stella began looking for something else, something to help others, but also she realized, something for herself.

She took a deep breath and then she began to tell a story.

One day her nephew Nicholas, who was at the FBI Academy, had stopped by her home, insisting that she take a ride with him. Stella explained that he was always quiet and serious, but there was something in his eyes that day, that even though it was boiling hot and she just wanted to collapse on the porch and rest after spending hours in her garden, she finally relented.

They drove to an old feed and grain store on the outskirts of her town. There her nephew proudly announced that this was the site for the no kill animal shelter that she had always talked about during her years of volunteering for animal organizations. The owner, after years of failing to find a lessee or a buyer had agreed to sell it for one dollar, if they cleaned and fixed the property up before he was jailed and fined for repeatedly violating the town's blight ordinance.

Oh, her nephew added, they had a week to do it.

Stella laughed at the memory. The place was a wreck - neglected, stripped of anything of value, turned into a dumping ground and vandalized for over a decade. But as they toured the site and her nephew reviewed with her the detailed fifty page document he had developed as part of his convincing the owner to sell, she began to see the possibilities.

But, as she told her nephew, there was no money, no willing hands and most importantly, no time.

As she explained to her rapt audience, Nicky rarely smiled, but when he did, it was like an early spring morning. He then explained that as part of FBI trainees twenty weeks at the Academy, they were all required to perform one day in service to the community. This weekend, he explained, they would be descending on this site, not for one but for two days.

Stella shook her head wryly. Apparently he had submitted a twenty page document to the Academy's community service committee, given a two hour presentation and then visited each committee member individually to plead his case. She suspected that they relented, not because his idea was better than anybody else's, but because they wanted to preserve their peace and sanity.

"Here I was, hot, filthy and sweaty, covered in cobwebs, bird droppings and things that I don't even want to imagine, and I was grinning like a fool, like I had won the lottery. I asked Nicky why he had done this, and he said simply that I had always believed in him and that he believed in me."

That evening when Stella went home, her husband was waiting for her. Her nephew had already told him about the plan and he quietly said whatever it took, time, effort, their savings, they would make her dream come true.

And as promised an army of young, strong enthusiastic FBI agents in training descended on the site, and first thing Monday morning she handed a dollar to the now former owner.

It wasn't easy, she explained. They struggled for years to stay afloat, but every time it seemed hopeless a check would arrive from Miami, Portland, San Diego, wherever it was that her nephew was assigned. Even when they finally got on their feet and were established and growing, he would ask for regular updates, and if there was something they needed, he was always the first one to help.

Stella paused. "Some of you may know that my nephew was murdered several months ago. He would be so proud and so happy to know that a fund named after him will help bring these magnificent animals home, where they belong."

Nodding to the Mayor, Stella stepped back from the podium. She leaned gratefully against the beautiful detective, and for the first time since his death, Stella was able to think of her nephew without a sharp pain in her heart.

XXX

John Reese's plan had been exquisitely simple.

If someone had pointed that out to him, he would have shrugged, smiled and said, "The best plans always are."

The plan had come to him during his walks and talks with Joss. Ironically it was the silence about Donnelly's death that was the key.

After the initial flurry of activity, there was virtually nothing. Joss' recounting of the memorial service, the bland article in _Police_ _Matters_ and the reassignment of the inquiry of the CIA on Stanton and Snow to an interagency review board in DC, meant someone wanted Donnelly to not just fade away, but to go away as soon as possible.

There should have been some attempt on the FBI's part to recast Donnelly's image. Whatever had happened with The Man in a Suit investigation and the events at Riker's, Donnelly had been murdered. Dead men, or in this case dead people, can't talk, and with the two people accused of murdering him also dead, the Bureau was free to create whatever view of Donnelly they wished, but they had chosen to remain silent. Why?

Joss and Fusco had heard nothing via the inter-departmental/agency grapevines, and Finch hadn't found an obvious thread electronically, so Reese had enlisted Zoe Morgan.

While much of the world overshares every detail of their lives electronically, there are still those places, places of power, where nothing is written down and the true interactions only happen face to face. Zoe not only had access to those places, she also had the skill and savvy to piece together a theory as to what was really going on.

The next step required Leon Tao. Humans can sometimes come and go without leaving a trace; large sums of money cannot. Working with Harold, the former forensic accountant compiled a list of who, what for and how much.

After that, everything had fallen neatly into place.

If pressed, Reese would have said that it was a way to stick it to the FBI – not only would Donnelly be remembered, he would be remembered with the FBI's own money.

He would never reveal the real reason why he had come up with this plan, but if you had somehow managed to follow John Reese today, you would have seen him pause and look across the crowd, before he melted into the shadows, and you would have known why he did it.

XXX

As Joss listened to the rest of the speakers, she smiled softly when she spied John at the edge of the crowd. He stood there just for a moment, gazing at her, and then he somehow found the one spot in the shadows on this clear, sunny day, and disappeared from view.

The ceremony finally drew to a close and an announcement was made that additional activities and a tent with refreshments was at the other end of the park, near the two dog runs. The crowd began to surge in that direction. Joss squeezed Stella's hand. "It was a beautiful ceremony, Mrs. O'Connor."

"Stella, please. And thank you so much for coming! It was good to see," her eyes grew solemn for a moment, "someone that Nicky worked with."

Joss nodded. She'd heard attendance by any FBI staffers had been strongly discouraged – those who might have defied that directive, like Brian Moss, had suddenly been assigned to cases on the other side of the continent. The FBI had sent a representative who clearly had never met Donnelly, much less knew he was, and they had read a well-crafted, meaningless statement about his service to the Bureau.

Stella O'Connor kept referring to herself as just a simple housewife, but Joss sensed that she understood all too well that there were certain aspects of her nephew's death and the aftermath that would never be fully explained.

"I know that Nicholas could sometimes be too focused –"

Joss gripped Stella's hand tightly, "Your nephew was a good agent. Please – tell his parents that."

Stella smiled softly. "Thank you, Detective."

"Joss. Take care, Stella."

XXX

Stella watched the detective – no, Joss - walk away. As she joined the crowd exiting the ceremony, a tall slim figure glided from the shadows. He was so graceful, so elegant in his movements, that Stella knew this was the man who had given her that stunning red coat.

Oh, he was beautiful, Stella thought, and fierce, so, so fierce, but when he looked at that gorgeous young woman, Stella saw gentleness, and love.

They blended with the crowd and disappeared.

Stella had been in the city for three days. She was scheduled to leave first thing tomorrow morning, but she wanted to go home. _Now_.

She wondered if she could get a flight out tonight.

Stella briskly walked up to the dignitaries and started saying her good-byes.

XXX

"No Bear?"

John shrugged, sighing. "Harold has custody today."

For once, they didn't try to escape the crowd, but let themselves be swept up in it, knowing that in a group like this – loud, boisterous and _hungry_ – nobody would pay attention to them.

Joss nodded sagely. "Glad to hear you two have finally worked everything out."

"Well, our primary concern is Bear's happiness, Carter, you know that," he smirked.

Joss smiled and they walked along quietly for a bit, just enjoying the sun, the people and the dozens of breeds of dogs, eagerly making up for their good behavior at the ceremony.

"I did think about bringing him, but four of the dogs were Malinois," John added.

Joss nodded. "Yeah." Four of the dogs honored today were Belgian Malinois; the same breed of dog in the crowd that also responded to Dutch commands could invite unneeded interest and scrutiny. She let the tips of her fingers graze the back of his hand. "You did good, John." Her voice softened. "Thank you."

She saw him struggle with a response and then he finally said, "You're welcome."

Breaking free of the crowd, they turned toward a section of the park called the cherry grove. Nestled between two rock ledges, rows of cherry trees formed an open canopy, sunlight filtering through their bare branches. They found a bench and sat down.

Joss sat there, waiting. She knew much of what John had done was for her, that it was another step in putting behind them everything that had happened all those weeks ago.

Nicholas Donnelly had made mistakes, some terrible ones – she pushed the image of that prison yard out of her mind – but he didn't deserve to be murdered and forgotten, nobody did. In the end, the Fund, quiet and understated, would make him neither a hero nor a villain – he would be like everyone else, simply someone who tried to do the best they could.

Now Joss needed to hear the rest.

John looked off in the distance and Joss knew that he needed her not to touch him or look at him as he began to speak. She kept her eyes focused on a cluster of daffodils. They had foolishly bloomed early – another arctic blast was expected tonight that would last for several days, but for now, their thin stems wafted in the breeze, brave and unafraid.

"There was a general strike in the country we were in. Everything was shut down, roving mobs, military trying to keep order. No transportation in or out. All we could do was wait. I was looking forward to sacking out for a few days. One the way back to the safe house, we passed a dumpster. Kara heard a sound."

His voice was even softer than normal, and Joss leaned towards him, just a bit closer, to hear him.

"Someone had thrown a newborn litter of six kittens in the trash. Two were dead, the rest were just hanging on. We made it back to the safe house and Kara made a formula out of evaporated milk, water and dried eggs. We fed them with an eye dropper from the medi-kit. She said they could tolerate cow's milk for 24 hours – after that we needed to find a nursing cat or a replacement formula."

Joss kept her eyes on the dancing flowers. "They made it through the night?"

"Yeah. Somehow we got to a vet. He already had his hands full; looked at us like we were nuts. No nursing cats, but he gave us enough formula for a week – said we had to feed them every four hours. Told us to check back when the general strike was over."

"So you fed 'em."

"Not just fed them, Detective. Newborn kittens don't know how to eliminate their own waste. We had to massage their intestinal area to help them pass it through and then clean them up." She heard a hint of a smile in his voice. "Don't mention it to Finch – he still thinks I don't know how to change a diaper."

Joss let her eyes flick towards him for a moment, then she put them back on the flowers. "Not a problem, John," she said wryly, then her voice softened again. "So…they lived?"

"Yeah. It was the middle of winter. No power, we struggled to heat the formula and keep them warm, but they lived. Eventually the strike ended, we took the kittens back to the vet and we left the country. Kara contacted him about a month later – he'd placed them all."

"They found a home."

"Yeah, Joss. They all found homes."

Like Bear, like the dogs today, like the other dogs who would find homes, and Joss understood that while John was remembering Kara, ultimately he was defying her. Despite all her efforts, John had also found a home as well.

He didn't say anything more for a long time, but when Joss slowly reached out her hand to touch him, John suddenly turned towards her, his blue eyes as clear and intent as she had ever seen them.

"For a long time, I thought…Kara knew me best, because she knew the worst things I could do, _would_ do."

"And now…"

John shrugged. "Now…maybe I'm starting to think differently."

Joss nodded. "Harold, Bear, Fusco, Zoe, Leon –" her voice caught at the memory of that terrible day " - _Taylor_, all the people you've helped, John, they see you differently, know you differently."

She touched his hand. "_I know you differently, John._"

"Kiss her! Kiss him! You know you want to!" A large group of teenage girls suddenly streamed through the grove, chattering and laughing, waving at them. Joss felt her face flush and John's cheeks turned red as they passed by, their voices seeming to echo off the rocky ledges, lingering after they were gone.

John stood up, pulling Joss to her feet. She started to draw her hand away, but John held on to it, and Joss let her fingers relax in his. Still holding hands, they exited the park.

As they slipped into his car, Joss softly asked, "Where are we going, John?" even though she already knew the answer to her question.

He said simply, "Home."

XXX

Reese had left the shades on the windows closest to the bed down, and the loft was half in light, half in shadow. The sun shot thick golden rays across the open, soaring space and he was reminded of those plain spare places he had seen all around the world, sacred and hushed.

Joss unzipped and slipped off her boots as Reese hung up their coats and his jacket in the coat closet. He watched her slowly walk across the loft floor, her bare feet silent on the gleaming wood. She had on a sleeveless dress, white wool with just a hint of pink in it, like the inside of a sea shell. Even though Joss had started gaining weight back, she was still too thin, and the dress was a little loose, swirling slightly around her waist and hips as she moved forward.

Reese watched her take off her earrings and put them in the covered wooden bowl, which was still on the coffee table. She picked the bowl up and walked over to the bed, placing it on the nightstand. With her back to him, he watched her unpin her hair, the thick black waves falling heavily to her shoulders, then place in the pins in the bowl as well.

Finally she turned to him, arms by her sides, with a soft, almost shy smile on her face.

Reese ached for her in a way that he never had with any other woman.

He slipped off his shoes and crossed the room, standing close to her. Reese took both of her hands, intertwining her fingers in his. The soft pink undertone of her white dress highlighted her glowing skin and her dark hair framed those incredible eyes, eyes that were looking at him, with tenderness, with certainty and, he knew, with an unflinching, unshakeable love.

He wanted to shout it.

"I love you, Jocelyn Carter," Reese said, with a voice that was soft, yet clear and strong.

Joss' voice was soft, yet clear and strong. "I love you, John Reese."

He cupped her face in his hands, gently brushing his lips against hers, then he took a step back. With his eyes never leaving hers, Reese stripped down to his briefs, his cock throbbing and pulsing in frustration and disappointment as the rest of his skin was set free.

Their eyes were still locked together as he came a little closer, placing his hands on the small of Joss' back. Her dress was fastened with tiny buttons, and Reese's fingers slowly went up her spine, touching each one as though he was counting them. He reached the button at the top and then he began opening them, his hands splaying against her bare skin, tracing the edge of her shoulder blades, ghosting across the clasp of her bra, then drifting down to the top curve of her buttocks, before traveling back up again.

Gently pulling her dress free from her shoulders, he heard a soft swoosh of fabric as the garment fell to the floor. Joss stood there in her white bra and panties, the stark fabric outlining her lush breasts and curvaceous hips.

Her eyes slowly traveled down his body, until they reached the scar on his stomach. She reached out her hand, caressing the rough, puckered skin, and then Joss leaned forward and she gently kissed it, her lips lingering on his trembling flesh as he gasped at her touch.

Reese put his hands around her tiny waist and he lifted her up, placing her feet on the bed. Leaning forward, he drew his fingers along the two thin scars on her waist, and then he pressed his lips against both scars, slowly and methodically kissing them. He heard Joss sigh, and then she ran her fingers through his hair, down to the nape of his neck, gently stroking the tender skin there.

For a moment, he couldn't bear it, her love, her gentleness, her forgiveness, but then Joss took a step back. She took off her bra and panties, raised her arms over her head and then fell back in a graceful arc on the bed, landing softly, her hair spilling like a waterfall over the pillows.

Opening her arms, she smiled at him, and Reese knew that there would be no guilt, no sadness, there would only be caring and passion and joy here. He slipped off his briefs and his cock sprang free as he lay down beside her.

Reese cupped her face in his hands again and kissed her lips, savoring their taste, their fullness. As her arms and legs wound around him, he kissed her cheeks, her nose, her eyelids, her brow, her chin, kissed every inch, every centimeter of her precious face, as he knew he would kiss every inch, every centimeter of her luscious body.

His tongue traced the outline of her mouth and then he fluttered it against her upper lip, then the lower, slow, then fast, then slow again, telling her what his tongue would do between her sleek thighs, until she quivered and shuddered in ecstasy.

Swirling along her soft skin, he licked and kissed her throat and shoulders and breasts, her arms and hands and fingers, her belly and thighs and knees, down to her slender feet, his tongue marking her flesh with a secret language that would be invisible to the human eye, but would be there forever.

Reese gently parted her thighs, gazing at the succulent flesh there. Joss tilted her hips upwards and Reese slid his hands under her firm buttocks, kissing the inside of her thighs, slowly coming forward to her silken, glistening folds.

Alcohol had always been Reese's drug of choice; as part of his training he had been exposed to all sorts of drugs, in order to be able recognize them and minimize or counteract their effects, but as he inhaled her delicate scent, touched the tip of his tongue to a precious drop, and then finally sipped her sweet elixir, Reese knew that this was one drug he could never resist or refuse, the one drug he would pursue relentlessly, the one drug he would gladly sell his soul for.

He kissed and licked and sucked and stroked her, while her hips undulated and thrust forward, while she cried out his name, while she prayed for him to stop and then cursed him when he paused for even a moment, kissed and licked and sucked and stroked her until his cock, raging in lust and jealousy finally demanded its place inside her, and with her arms around him, and her voice whispering, _yes, yes_, he plunged deep inside her.

They moved as one, arms and hands and fingers, lips and tongues and chests and hips and thighs all straining to be closer, ever closer together, twisting and turning, rising and falling until he shattered, and the only thing he knew was her name, saying it over and over again, until he could speak no more.

XXX

As the plane flew south, Stella thought about whom that beautiful man reminded her of. There was a woman who used to visit the shelter. She was tall and slender, with dark hair and pale skin. Fierce, she was so fierce, just like him, but there was no gentleness in her, at least no gentleness towards humans.

This woman would curtly ask for the worst job that needed to be done that day. She would muck out stalls, clean cages, scrub mats, her movements elegant and precise. Finally hours later, she would ask quietly if she could spend some time with the animals. She would hold sleeping puppies or kittens in her arms, her face soft and tender, and then she would leave, without saying a word.

She hadn't been back for several years, and Stella had stopped thinking about her, until today. As she sipped a lukewarm cup of coffee, Stella hoped that woman had found what she was looking for.

XXX

Joss could smell something delicious.

Glancing at the clock on the nightstand, she realized that she had slept for only a few hours, yet she felt totally relaxed, totally rested. Joss couldn't remember when she had slept so deeply – she was a mom, a veteran, a cop, a _woman_, she smiled to herself – there was always something to worry, plan or think about, always something to remember or sometimes even more importantly, something to forget.

Yet here, in this huge bed, she was oblivious to the world around her.

Well, she was off duty, her son was away with his debate team prepping for the conference that was taking place in a few weeks and she had spent several hours in the fresh air and sunshine – no wonder she was so relaxed.

Of course, being made love to until she lost all sense of self, thought and time, might have had a _little_ something to do with it too, Joss thought with a smile.

As she sat up and stretched, Joss saw that one of John's white shirts had been neatly folded at the foot of the bed. Crawling forward, she lifted it up. Her underwear, freshly laundered and a pair of John's athletic shorts lay underneath. Joss tossed the bra and shorts aside, slipped on the shirt and the panties, then made her way to the kitchen.

John was twisting the top of a pastry bag closed, as she stood in the kitchen entryway. He had on a t-shirt and jeans, his feet were bare and his hair was swept back from his forehead. His eyes slowly swept up her body from her bare feet to her face and she felt her nipples harden and her vulva pulse at his gaze.

"I was just about to wake you. Hungry, Joss?" His eyes flashed, and Joss wanted to feast on more than just food.

She nodded, unable to speak for a moment, then she saw the array of freshly prepared dishes on the cooktop and counters. There was a softly simmering soup, a thick rich stew, roasted and glazed winter vegetables, a warm, colorful salad, a round speckled loaf of bread and crocks and containers full with butters and different dressings.

"Planning on feeding an army, John?"

"An army travels on its stomach****, Joss. And for long term, _peak_ performance," his eyes swept over her body again, "I like to keep my best soldier well fed."

Joss watched his long fingers skillfully manipulating the bag as he piped a rich, creamy white filling into a row of pastry shells, covered them with the cap, then dusted them with powdered sugar and shaved chocolate. Sliding the tray into the refrigerator, he crossed the room and kissed her on the cheek, his eyes soft and tender. "I'm glad you're here, Joss."

"Me, too, John."

They gazed at each other for a long moment, and then John tugged on the hem of her shirt. "Sit, soldier," he whispered in her ear, "We've got a long night ahead of us."

Joss raised an eyebrow, "Is that an order?"

His lips touched her ear, and it took everything in Joss not to shudder with desire. "In your case, Joss, more like a request…and a promise."

"Well, in that case…"smiling, Joss turned gracefully on her heel and made her way to the dining area. The shades on the rest of the windows were down and the table, already set, was lit only by candles. As she sat down, Joss felt warm and cossetted, cared for in a way that she hadn't for a very long time. She wanted to jump up and help, _do_ something, but she sensed it was important to John that for once, she would just sit back and relax.

The meal was incredible, simple and hearty, yet extremely sensual. Joss savored the sight, tastes, smells and textures, from the creaminess of the soup, to the red, gold and yellows of the winter vegetables, to the rustic, savory bread, which she tore off in chunks with her fingers, dipping them into the remains of the stew and the salad in her bowls, not wanting to waste a single drop.

She ate and ate, while John explained the origins of the dishes he'd prepared, his soft voice flowing gently over her, contrasting beautifully with the candlelight flickering against the sharp angles of his face. They talked and laughed, while the food quickly disappeared, and Joss realized with a shock that they had eaten every last bit, except for dessert.

John headed back to the kitchen while Joss slipped into the bathroom. She freshened up, then looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. A lifetime ago, she had examined herself in a bathroom mirror and found nothing.

This time, while there were still no marks on her skin, Joss knew she looked different, felt different, was different.

She sharply rolled up the sleeves of her shirt to her biceps, undid most of the buttons and then tied the two open front ends into knots.

Joss smiled as she stepped back into the main living area. Now it was time for dessert.

John was already sitting down, and his eyes changed color, glowing in the candlelight, as she walked slowly across the floor, the shirt sliding down her shoulders and chest until it seemed that the only things holding it up were her erect nipples.

Joss picked up one of the desserts and took off the top, dipping her finger in the rich, creamy filling, as she stood next to him. "You got a fancy name for these, John?"

He watched her pull out her filling covered finger and swirl it in the air. "Some call it a profiterole or a _choux à la crème_, but what do you call it, Joss?"

Joss sat on the edge of the table, leaned back, and with a move she knew she'd feel the next morning, swung her legs up in the air and scooted over, so that she was directly in front of him, her legs dangling on either side of his. She stuck her finger in her mouth, watching his face as she sucked deeply, her cheeks hollowed, until her glistening finger finally emerged with a soft popping sound. "_Cream_ puffs, John."

She dipped her finger in the filling again, rubbed it against her lips and licked it off, listening to him shift and squirm in his chair, knowing his jeans were now tight and uncomfortable. Her shirt was now barely covering her nipples, and she dipped her finger in the filling again, tracing it against the upper curves of her breasts and down her cleavage. John groaned as she licked her fingers and drew them against her skin, wiping the filling off and then licking them clean.

She unbuttoned the last few buttons on her shirt, slipping it off and exposing her breasts, her nipples now as hard as diamonds. Joss dipped her finger in the filling one last time, coating them. "Want some cream puffs, John?"

With a growl, he shoved his chair back, and it fell to the floor as he stood up, swept a space clear on the table and seized her around the waist, pushing her back so that her head and torso were now flat on the table. Taking off her panties and lifting her legs up and around his body, he leaned forward, his eyes scorching hers with lust and desire. "I want _so_ much more than that, Joss, much, much more."

Grinning wickedly, he reached over to the dessert tray that he had shoved aside and took the top off of two desserts, turning them over and letting the filling spill on her naked breasts. Joss gasped as the cool creaminess slid over her skin, and then she moaned aloud as John's hot lips and tongue began to devour it, licking and sucking until her skin was wet and tingling.

He'd left her nipples covered and now he slowly began to lick them clean, blowing softly on them as more and more of the filling disappeared, the contrast of hot and cold driving her crazy. Cupping her breasts and squeezing them together, he tugged on her nipples with his teeth gently, back and forth, one than the other, until Joss exploded with a massive orgasm. Shuddering as John lifted her in his arms, Joss had just enough presence of mind to grab a pastry as he carried her to the bed.

She placed the pastry on the nightstand, watching him as he tore off his clothes, drinking in his smoldering eyes, his beautiful lean form and his thick heavy cock, showing her in no uncertain terms how much he wanted her. John lay down beside her, and as he leaned forward to take her in his arms, Joss rolled on top of him, kissing him. "I'm still hungry, John."

She kissed his Adam's Apple, circled her tongue in the hollow of his throat, and then slowly began kissing down his body. He groaned as she swirled a lock of her hair over his nipples, tickling them and teasing them, knowing by his reaction that nobody had ever done that before. She kissed her way down his stomach, to the delicate area where his torso met his thighs, tracing her tongue in the shallow valley, coming closer and closer to that straining cock until his body was arching and thrusting towards hers.

Joss ran the tip of her fingers around the head, smearing the pre-cum over his dark pulsing skin, and then she licked her fingers. "Mmmmm, spicy, John. Now let's add something sweet."

She darted forward, scooped the pastry filling in her hands and then straddled him. Joss let the filling drip from her hands and spill over his erect cock, smiling as he cursed loudly in several different languages. Leaning forward, Joss began to feast, not stopping until he was begging to be inside her. Rising up on her knees, she drew him into her body, rising up and down on her strong thighs, watching him unravel before her, until another massive orgasm rocketed through her body and she felt him stiffen and pulse inside her.

John pulled her forward, and as she rested on his chest, for a moment Joss thought about scattered clothes, a disheveled table, guttering candles, and piles of cookware and dirty dishes. As if he could read her mind, John kissed her hair, murmuring, "Later, Joss."

She knew he was humoring her, that when she awoke everything would be cleaned and put away, but her eyes drifted shut and once again she fell asleep in that big bed, oblivious to the world around her.

XXX

Stella walked directly out to the Arrivals gate. She didn't pick up her luggage or take the shuttle to the long term parking lot to get her car – they weren't important, getting where she needed to be was.

She slipped into a taxi and as the driver calculated the best route to her destination, she told him that there was a fifty dollar tip if he could get there in half the time. He tore down the road, probably breaking a dozen traffic laws in the process, but for once, Stella didn't care about the rules – there was someplace she needed to be.

Fifty dollars lighter, she walked into the rehabilitation center. The front desk attendant looked up, surprised – it was well after visiting hours. He opened his mouth to say something, but he saw the look on her face and didn't say anything – he knew where she needed to be.

Stella moved quickly down the hall. Most of the patients were asleep, lights were dim, televisions muted. Jasper, the center's resident cat, rose from his perch outside the community room – Stella always scratched him behind the ears when she visited, but he saw the look on her face and sat back down, purring as she walked by.

As she entered her husband's room Stella's breath caught. He was in his wheelchair, awake, waiting for her, even though she hadn't called, even though he didn't know she was on her way.

He smiled and even though his body was still broken, even though he might never walk again, she knew that his mind had come back, and with his mind, his love for her.

"How was your trip?" he asked, and she thrilled to hearing his soft, gentle voice again.

"It was good," she said, as she sat down and took his hand.

"I'm glad you're back, StellaStar."

She fought not to cry. StellaStar was his special name for her, the name he called her only when they were alone. The name he had not called her for months. "Me, too."

"Good." He paused, and his eyes searched hers. "I know…I've been lost for a long time, Stella, but I never stopped trying to get back to you." He pushed back a strand of her snow white hair. "I never want to lose you."

Stella kissed his cheek. "You will _never_ lose me." She gave him a look. "Unless you get on that damn motorcycle again."

He raised an eyebrow. "How 'bout if I let you drive this time?"

She laughed and put her arms around him. "We'll see, we'll see," and she began to tell him everything.

*Carl Schurz Park is in the northeast corner of Manhattan Island, in a part of the city that was called Yorkville, home to many German and Dutch immigrants. Created as East River Park in the 1870s, it was renamed for the German-born Secretary of the Interior Carl Schurz in 1910.

**Gracie Mansion was an old farmhouse built by Archibald Gracie in the 1790s. The property and its acreage were incorporated into the area now known as Carl Schurz Park in the 1890s. Over the years it served many functions, including a concession stand and rest rooms, before it was designated as NYC's official residence in 1942 and restored and expanded. Several Mayors have lived there over the years, but the current Mayor, Michael Bloomberg, does not.

***From the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (ASPCA) website: "According to the Department of Defense, in early 2012 there were approximately 2,700 Military Working Dogs (MWDs) serving worldwide, keeping us safe and performing important tasks that can be difficult, if not impossible, for people. Some experts estimate that the average military dog saves 150 soldier lives during his or her career."

US Military dogs are still classified as equipment and while some legislation has been passed re: their transport and care, it is currently a recommendation, not a requirement. In late 2012, "the Canine Members of the Armed Forces Act permits the Secretary to administer a system of care for retired military working dogs. Further, the amendment allows, but does not require, the Secretary of each military department to transfer retiring military working dogs to the 341st Training Squadron at Lackland Air Force Base in Texas, or another suitable location to prevent adopters from having to pay the high cost of transporting the dogs from overseas." – Senator Richard Blumenthal (D-CT)

Legislation to reclassify military dogs as members of the armed forces rather than equipment and to allow, for example, the donation of frequent flier miles to transport the dogs, is still pending and there are a number of groups working diligently to transport them stateside, provide medical care and arrange adoptions.

****This quote has been attributed to Napoleon.

A/N: Perhaps there were really two ceremonies in this chapter, not one. Next, we catch up with some POIs, Persons and Pets, of Interest and in Chapter 18, the final chapter, we go on a walkabout.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

A/N: In this chapter, we catch up with some POIs, Persons and Pets, of Interest, but we open with a brief conversation between one of our favorite couples, John Reese and Jocelyn Carter.

"So…would Harold's system been affected if Stanton's plan had succeeded?"

Reese sat there, sipping his coffee. They were in a car, staking out the latest number, who was apparently mesmerized by the endless timeouts and commercials at the end of a late night TNT NBA telecast and wasn't planning on leaving his home anytime soon.

The last time Joss had asked about where he and Harold got their information was after Root had taken his friend, months ago, but Reese knew she hadn't forgotten or stopped wondering about it. He shifted slightly in his seat to look at her, not saying anything.

"You don't have to answer," her voice was calm as she looked out the windshield. She closed the little flap on the lid of her coffee cup. "When I was an interrogator, we got briefings on chatter, trends, things to look for when we were drawing somebody out. After 9/11, NYPD got a lot of training on terrorism and surveillance – still do, through Homeland Security."

Joss paused, put her cup in the cup holder. "We're taught to look for stuff that leads us to groups, conspiracies, teams, organizations - whatever you and Finch get leads you to _people_… but that data has still got to be collected, sorted, categorized and prioritized some way."

She shifted her body slightly towards his. "You don't have an army of snitches, or a bunch of analysts working for you, and even if you did," she cocked an eyebrow at him, "they'd quit in a week."

Joss smiled softly at him, then her face grew serious again. "When you and I were apart, I worked with Finch almost every day. Spent a lot of time listening to him…I always knew he was a brain, but –" Joss leaned closer, "- whatever's out there, whatever _system_ you guys get your information from, I thought that Harold hacked into it, or somehow had gotten access to it, but now…he must have worked on it," Joss shook her head slightly, as if the realization had just come over her, "hell, he might have even _built_ it."

Finch was brilliant, a genius, Reese thought, but he wondered in what subtle little ways Joss had drawn Harold out with her intelligence, training and natural curiosity, what words and phrases his friend might have unknowingly uttered, nothing individually, but with someone like Joss, clues that she was able to tie together that led her to something much, much more.

"For a long time I thought Stanton wanted to take something out of that DoD facility, but then I thought, what if she wanted to put something _in?_"

Reese couldn't answer her. He knew, she knew it.

Joss turned her body back towards the windshield. "_Finally_. I thought he was fused to the remote." As their target stood up, Reese and Joss slipped out of the car.

They touched hands briefly and then made their way towards the apartment building.

XXX

"You moving?"

Rafael Alvarez glanced at his watch. He'd planned on having everything packed in his car before Joss Carter arrived, but it had taken longer than he thought, and of course she was right on time, her red coat shimmering with the dusting of a light snowfall.

He laid the last of the boxes on the porch. "No. Nikki's things. I didn't realize she had so much stuff here."

"I'm sorry, Rafi." Her big brown eyes took in the boxes, neatly labeled and sealed. Nikki had never lived with him, but over the years there was an accumulation of linens and kitchen gadgets, books and knick knacks, things that were scattered in every room of his place, but they, and she, had never really become a part of his life.

Alvarez shook his head. "Should have happened a long time ago. We both knew it wasn't working."

She nodded as she walked up the porch steps. "Need some help?" Alvarez saw that she wasn't as thin as before, and there was something different there – she was still Detective Jocelyn Carter, still serious and intent, but he could see that she had solved the problem that was plaguing her before.

"Nope, all done." His eyes flickered over the container in her hand. In the cold morning air, he could detect cinnamon and vanilla and almonds, all melding together in a way he hadn't smelled in decades. "Well, I can at least pretend that I've burned off enough calories to justify whatever you got there, Doe Eyes. Come on in."

They sat down in the kitchen, exchanged their usual gossip and then went over the files from a suspicious death she was investigating. The victim appeared to have died of a heart attack, but there were scorch marks under the carpet near the well-worn recliner where the body was found, and she wondered if the burns were trying to conceal a clue as to what had really happened. Alvarez agreed that she was on to something and they made plans to tour the site tomorrow.

He got up and poured them some more coffee, eyes twinkling as he sat back down. "Your new guy know you're stepping out on him?"

She raised both eyebrows at him, and he laughed. "You're sharing the stuff he made for _you_, Doe Eyes, with me. You didn't get this at some bakery – this," he picked up a crumb, popped it in his mouth, savoring the taste, "was made by somebody who knows what he's doing."

Her eyes were challenging as she leaned forward, but he noted that she didn't deny it. "And how would you know, Rafi?," jerking her head at the pizza box on the counter, "y_ou_ live on takeout and delivery."

Alvarez smiled as he took a piece of the sublime tart on her plate. "I wasn't always in FDNY. Went to boot camp the day after my high school graduation. Spent a few days in Paris. The _food_," he closed his eyes at the memory, "never forgot it, and this, _this_ is Paris."

"I've gained ten pounds," she protested, but her eyes were shining.

"You could stand to gain ten more. Media keeps pushing these lollypop girls at us – bodies as thin as a stick, nothing for a man to hold on to. Guy wants to put a little meat on your bones," he swiped another piece. "I like him."

She nodded, but as expected, didn't say anything more. He tried to steal more from her plate, but she made a stabbing motion at his hand with her fork, then relented and gave him another piece. They talked about his military days as they polished off the rest of the tart together.

As she walked down the front steps, Alvarez said softly, "I'm glad you're happy, Doe Eyes. You deserve it."

She turned back, looked at him, her eyes glowing. "Ten o'clock, Rafi," and then she walked away.

Alvarez took the rest of the boxes out to his car. As he loaded them in the trunk, he thought that for the first time in his adult life, he would be alone, truly alone. He wasn't sure how he felt about that, but he knew he had to do it, knew he had to move forward.

Getting in his car, he drove to Nikki's and set the boxes on her porch. As he pulled away, he thought about Joss Carter. Once again, she had defied his expectations. "Should have known, not to bet against ya, Doe Eyes," he said softly.

She did it, he thought, he could do it too.

He headed towards the nearest big box store to buy some new things for his place.

XXX

The coffee shop was surprisingly empty when Joss walked in. She placed an order with the person behind the counter, then checked her messages on her handheld as she waited.

"For here or to go, Officer?"

Joss raised her head at the soft voice.

The barista smiled at her. "I was in the back." He was standing next to her, and Joss was struck by his ability to seemingly materialize out of nowhere, his lean form as graceful as ever as he took her drink from the counter person and handed it to her.

Joss pointed at the banner over the counter. "I see you're moving on. Congratulations." LaBlanca had bemoaned his departure the last time Joss had stopped by her desk, sourly predicting that the quality of the coffee and the service would dip precipitously after he was gone.

"Thanks, year's not up yet, but I've got another assignment." Joss detected a small note of pride in his voice, and she knew that whatever the assignment was, it was a big one, one that he had worked very hard for, and deserved.

Joss smiled, nodding, "I know you'll do well."

Other than those brief texts the morning after the confrontation with Beecher in that small courtyard, they had not seen or communicated with each other.

His long fingers barely touched the lid on her coffee cup. "Do you need anything else?"

"No. I just wanted to stop by and wish you good luck. Take care, John."

"You, too…Joss."

They smiled at each other, one last time, and Joss walked out into the bright sunshine.

XXX

Harold Finch hated to admit it.

The library was empty. He should have enjoyed the brief respite, the peace and quiet – working the numbers made life hectic and while his friend John Reese prided himself on slipping in and out undetected from anywhere else, he seemed to relish making his presence known here, letting weapons, softballs, Frisbees, cameras, surveillance equipment and other items clatter, slide, vibrate, crash, collide, roll and bounce about the room like a convention of symphony percussionists, and then making an innocent face when Finch would glare at him or make a pointed comment.

Not to be outdone, Bear made his own racket as well, gulping water from his bowl as though he had just crossed the Atacama* desert, tearing after some insect who was minding its own business and sometimes snorting and snuffling in his sleep as though he were a massive water buffalo.

But this evening man and beast were absent, off with Jocelyn Carter on some undoubtedly muddy and sodden trek through a God-forsaken portion of New York's urban landscape, the Machine wouldn't deign to dispense a new number and the array of keyboards and screens on his work table were mocking him with their silence.

No, the library was empty and quiet, and tonight, Finch hated it.

Harold had thought about sitting in the park across from Grace's house; she always kept the holiday lights up until the first day of spring. He remembered thinking it was silly at first, but now looking at those delicate lights strung across the façade cheered him and sometimes he'd catch a glimpse of her through the windows. He'd put on his jacket, but then he remembered that she was attending a gallery opening tonight, so he had decided to stay put and wait for his friends' return.

Deciding to make another cup of tea, Harold was in the makeshift kitchen, when he heard a softball careening against one of the file cabinets and the clinking of Bear being taken off his leash so that he could go after it.

Smiling, then putting an aggrieved look on his face, he stepped back out into the main work space. "Really, Mr. Reese, is all this commotion necessary? A simple 'Hello' or 'We're back, Finch' would have sufficed."

His friend smirked. "Bear likes to make an entrance, Finch, you know that. It's…part of his genetic makeup."

"I wasn't aware that his DNA included rampaging like a bull elephant." He cast a critical eye at his two friends. They weren't nearly as sodden as he'd thought they would be and there were no flecks of mud on Reese's boots and jeans or Bear's legs and paws. They were also earlier than he expected.

Finch crossed the room, scratching Bear behind his ears. "Did Detective Carter come to her senses and elect to do something slightly more entertaining tonight than tromping about in the dark like a vagabond – bleaching grout, perhaps?"

"Sleet, and she's got a parent-teacher conference first thing tomorrow, so we took Bear for a walk and then he and I went to that used bookstore you're always mooning over…we found something for you."

Reese took a small package out of his jacket pocket and handed it to him.

Harold opened the package. Inside was a bird watching guide that had belonged to one of the founding members of the historical society he belonged to, his name and the year neatly written on the inside cover. There were notes and sketches in the margins, corrections in the text, even hand drawn maps on the blank pages at the end of the sites he had visited.

It was an incredible find, and while Finch suspected that Reese wasn't being truthful about stumbling upon this one of a kind item in a used bookstore, he knew his friend would deny taking the time to search something like this out for him. "This is…" he looked up, smiling softly. "Thank you, John."

"Thank _you_, Harold."

The two friends nodded at each other, knowing nothing more needed to be said.

Reese tilted his head at him. "Do you recognize the places noted on the maps?"

Finch sat down, his fingers flying over the keyboard, "Well, of course things have changed significantly, but I created a program that cross indexes the Dutch explorations, Native oral accounts, British colonial maps and local geographical surveys, both during the Articles of Confederation period and after the US Constitution was –" he paused, peering over his glasses. "Are you really interested?"

Reese shrugged. "I can pretend to be interested."

"Bear does a better job of that than you, Mr. Reese, but," he opened the book to one of the last drawings, "I think one of the maps details a location you could explore with Jocelyn. Knowledge can be…quite _alluring_ to the fair sex, John."

Reese raised an eyebrow. "Speaking from experience, Finch?"

Harold's smile was full of secrets. "Have a seat, Mr. Reese, and find out."

XXX

Even if Reese hadn't already known where to go, her red coat stood out amongst the gray and white headstones.

The funeral had been held two days ago and while Joss had attended it, he knew she wanted to say a private goodbye to Cal Beecher.

Rain and a late season cold snap had created patches of black ice all over the tri-state area, and the Narcotics Detective's sports car had smashed into a guard rail, killing him instantly.

Beecher had gotten his promotion and had moved to another precinct; Joss had not seen or spoken to him again after that night in the courtyard.

Reese took her hand. She didn't look at him or say anything, but she squeezed his fingers twice; first to acknowledge his presence and then again, when she was ready to go.

XXX

Detective Kane had a mouth as big as the Grand Canyon, so Fusco knew to expect something when he walked into the precinct. His co-workers were a little too chipper, a little too polite when they greeted him, their eyes were a little too bright as they followed him down the hall. People he hadn't seen in months, let alone years, were in the building, saying hello like he was a long lost relative. Even his captain, who normally spent his time holed up in his office, emerging only for coffee and to scream at someone, not only smiled at him, but actually moved aside to let him pass in front of him.

"Crime take the day off?" Lionel muttered to himself as he went down the hall.

Squeezing past the crowd clogging the entry to the Homicide Task Force bullpen, Fusco saw the source of his sudden popularity.

The crime scene crash dummy, naked except for the two life-sized photos of his face taped to its ass, was propped up over a huge glazed ham on his desk.

Moons over My Hammy.**

The room, already jam packed, exploded with laughter, as the rest of the building poured in.

It had been a bad day already; the power was out at his apartment - he'd overslept and there was no hot water – a cold wash up and shave, no time to grab a hot coffee on the way in.

Strike One, he'd thought.

Now this. Strike Two.

He couldn't explain what happened, how he'd run into his ex at a Denny's, how they managed to have a civilized conversation for once, how he offered to look at her car on the way out, how he said _something_, he didn't know what, that pissed her off, how he zigged when she zagged with her fists and how he somehow wound up falling face first onto a table full of Slams, Skillets and Omelettes, his ass in the air, including three plates of Moons Over My Hammy.

How Kane was there with a look on his mug like he had the one winning Powerball ticket.

Lionel knew what to do. He slowly bowed and waved to the crowd, turning in a complete circle, then he sat at his desk.

The best way to get past a prank was to acknowledge it, admit they got you and then leave it there for the rest of the day to let your audience traipse past and get a good look and a good laugh at your expense.

As his partner, Carter knew what to do, too. Pretend it was an ordinary day. She didn't laugh, make jokes or comment on the display. Far as she was concerned, when she brought him a badly needed coffee or handed him a file, it didn't exist. Carter didn't even blink when a potential witness kept turning around to look it, calmly repeating her questions and regaining his attention. Her lips didn't twist, her eyes didn't sparkle and her voice didn't change at all.

She was actually a little _too_ good at it - maybe she was taking lessons from Wonderboy. He knew they had worked out whatever was going on between the two of them; Carter was quietly happy and Mt. Rushmore was actually almost human, he thought.

At last, the day, like all days, finally ended and Fusco was cleaning off the last spots of glaze that had splattered on his desk, when he got a text from the woman he was seeing, Rhonda, that there was an issue with _her_ ex, so she had to cancel their date tonight.

Lionel sighed, his shoulders slumping. Should have known. Strike Three.

Carter tilted her head at him, as if she was reading his thoughts. "How 'bout a drink, partner? I'm buying."

Fusco shrugged. "Yeah, sure, why not. Got your credit card, Carter? You're gonna need it."

As they put on their coats, Lionel asked, "Did your grandmother tell you that things always happen in threes?"

Her forehead crinkled. "Yeah, why?"

"She ever tell you why those three things are always _bad_?"

Carter laughed. "Guess I _am_ going to need my credit card tonight. Spill, Fusco."

Lionel began telling her his tales of woe as they walked out of the bullpen.

XXX

The owner of Cat and Mouse opened his eyes with a start.

Damn prostate, he thought, but as he sat up, he realized that wasn't it.

Always a light sleeper, honed by a less than honorable past and a stint in prison, he had learned to trust his instincts. Throwing on his robe and jamming his feet into his slippers, he quickly made his way downstairs.

Few people knew that he owned both sides of the entire block, and even fewer knew that he actually lived on the top floor of the building that housed Cat and Mouse. He maintained an official residence just outside the city for business entertaining and occasional liaisons with women who wanted to be as discreet as he did, but this was his real home.

Even after all these years, he still enjoyed wandering the building after hours, running his hands over the glossy book jackets, adjusting the display stands, making sure everything was just so, but tonight he didn't linger. He headed right to the display window, unlocked the door and stepped inside.

There on the floor, was Mouse, her body curled protectively around Cat. She turned her huge eyes at him, and he knew that Cat was dead.

He shouldn't cry, knew this was coming, had thought it through, had planned for it.

Cat had lived a long time, certainly much longer than the bedraggled starving creature he'd found decades ago, shivering in the basement of this building, wailing like a cat, would have. The parrot had been with him through tough times, had seen things develop and grow, and flourish, over the years. He had been petted and feted and coddled and cared for, had the love of faithful companions, had lived a good life.

He pushed down the low, raw sob that was rising in his chest, knelt beside the two creatures.

Cat had been ill for some time, small tumors inside his body. An intelligent creature, he knew that there was something wrong with him, besides the vagaries of old age. The parrot had become snappish and churlish, angry and sometimes even cruel, and like many of us, took it out on the one closest to him, the one he cared the most about. Mouse.

While there were times when she growled and hissed, and even swung her paw at him, she never hurt him and she was always patient, always there for him to lean up against her and seek forgiveness and comfort, her long tail sheltering him, as though she could keep the inevitable away.

And perhaps she had. Cat had lived twice as long as the avian specialist's prognosis had given him.

As he ran his hand over Cat's feathers, Mouse began to purr, a low, slow hum, soothing and calming him, the owner realized, as much as herself.

"You did your duty, little one," he whispered to her, as he cradled his old friend to his chest. "Now, it's our turn."

XXX

"He hasn't been in trouble for a long time, Finch, so these records weren't digitized. They won't be scanned for another six months at least," Joss said, as she handed him the dirty, cracked folders that had been stored in the old annex.

"Thank you, Detective. I'll return them to you as soon as possible."

Joss nodded. As she walked away, Finch called out, "Detective, I couldn't help but overhear the conversation you had with Mr. Reese several days ago."

She turned to look at him. Joss saw fear in his eyes, not fear for himself or fear of what she might find out, but fear for her if she did. She realized he was terrified for her.

Jocelyn Carter knew herself very well. She knew she would never stop looking for answers, never stop wanting to know more. She knew that one day she would have to have that conversation with Harold and John.

But for now, she would wait.

She walked back over to him, touched his hand. "What conversation?"

His fingers curved around hers, just for a moment, and then he nodded, and limped slowly away.

*The Atacama desert of South America is the driest place on earth.

**Moons Over My Hammy. Per Denny's website, this meal is a three-egg omelette with diced ham, melted Swiss and American cheeses, hash browns or grits and a choice of bread. It clocks in at 730 calories, of which 460 are fat.

A/N: I had gone back and forth regarding whether or not I wanted to keep Beecher alive or kill him in this story – for about a minute, then I came to my senses and bumped him off. Our girl had gone through so much in this story already, so a quick, accidental death (was he speeding, perhaps?) worked here.

Next, the final chapter is called Walkabout, and yes, we will be making a return visit to the bookstore, Cat and Mouse.


End file.
